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PLAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE LIKENESS OF THE NIGHT 
 
 (Four Acts) 
 A LONG DUEL (Comedy, Four Acts) 
 
 THE SEARCHLIGHT (One Act) 
 
 BADELEINE (One Act) 
 
PLAYS : 
 
 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MITCHELL KENNERLEY 
 
 MCMX 
 
^ ^ Copyright, 1910 
 
 By Mitchell Kennerley 
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE. 
 
 Of these three plays, only the first has been pro- 
 duced. 
 
 " The Modern Way " takes its title from a volume 
 by the same author published two years ago, and is 
 adapted from a story contained therein. 
 
 Any inquiries regarding the dramatic rights of 
 "Hamilton's Second Marriage" should be addressed 
 to Miss Alice Kauser, 1403 Broadway, New York, and 
 for the other two plays to Miss Elisabeth Marbury, 
 1430 Broadway. 
 
 These plays are copyrighted in the United States of 
 America, and all rights are reserved. 
 
 7 Chilwobth Street, 
 
 Hyde Park, London, W. 
 January, 1910. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hamilton's Second Marriage ... 5 
 
 Thomas and the Princess .... 101 
 The Modern Way 221 
 
 395483 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 
 
PRODUCED AT THE COURT THEATRE, 
 LONDON, OCTOBER, 1907, BY 
 
 MR. OTHO STUART, 
 
 Mr. Dawson Milward, Mr. E. M. Garden, Mr. Graham 
 
 Browne, Miss Frances Dillon, and Miss Alexandra 
 
 Carlisle in the Chief Parts 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE 
 
 Sir Henry Callender 
 
 Maurice Hamilton, ex-Civil servant 
 
 Colonel Dempster, his friend 
 
 Guy Armitage 
 
 Judson, butler to Sir H, Callertder 
 
 Becker, Hamilton*s servant 
 
 Lady Callender 
 
 Sylvia, daughter to Sir H. and Lady Callender 
 
 Madame Bunsen, a riding mistress 
 
Act. I. Lady Callender's drawing-room on Cam- 
 den Hill. Early afternoon. 
 
 Act II. The same. Four days later. 
 
 Act III. Sylvia's sitting-room. Ten days later. 
 
 Act IV. A year later, Maurice Hamilton's study 
 in Kensington Square. 
 
 TIME: Present, 
 
ACT I 
 
 Scene. — Lady Callender's drawing-room on 
 Camden Hill. French windows opening on 
 to garden and lawn seen beyond. Fireplace 
 Uj door L. Grand piano {open) c. Flowers 
 about, &c. Pleasant, home-like room of well- 
 off people. 
 Time. — Early afternoon. 
 
 [When the curtain rises Sir Henry Cal- 
 LENDER is standing by the bell, which 
 he rings rather impetuously. He is eld- 
 erly, lively and mannered. 
 Enter Servant (Judson), with note on tray, 
 held down by his side. 
 Sir H. Where is Lady Callender? 
 JuDSON. Her Ladyship is lying down^ Sir 
 Henry. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! [He always says ''Oh!" in the 
 same short tone.'\ And Miss Sylvia? 
 JuDsoN. Miss Sylvia is out. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! What's that 
 
 [Looking down at tray. 
 JuDsoN. [Handing note.] Mr. Hamilton's 
 servant brought it this morning — ^just after you 
 had gone, and was to wait for an answer. 
 
 [Sir Henry reads it with some excitement. 
 
6 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sir H. Oh! [To Judson, who is about to go.] 
 Judson — wait. [Reads note again.] I — I want 
 a telegram to go immediately. [Sits down at writ- 
 ing-table, R.] No — stop — I won't send it — I'll 
 
 telephone [Ea;it Judson.] [Looking at note 
 
 again.'] Of course. [Exit. 
 
 [Stage empty for a minute. 
 
 [Re-enter Judson, showing in Guy Armitage — 
 
 young, boyish in manner, good-looking. 
 
 Judson. Miss Sylvia is out, sir, but I'll see if 
 
 her Ladyship is about yet. 
 
 Guy. Don't disturb her if she's lying down — 
 I mean — ^^er — taking her little siesta — or going 
 out. 
 
 Judson. No sir. [Exit. 
 
 [Guy alone makes business — looks round 
 
 room — whistles the tune of the song he 
 
 afterwards plays, drifts to piano, and 
 
 plays and sings softly to himself, 
 
 [Sings] " Did you ever see the devil 
 
 With his wooden pail and shovel, 
 Digging taters by the bushel 
 With his tail cocked up 
 tail cocked up 
 Did you ever see the devil 
 
 With his wooden pail " 
 
 Enter Lady Callender (46), handsome, rather 
 austere-looking, but sweet-mannered — a little 
 firm in manner, as of a woman whose preju- 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 7 
 
 dices, in spite of her sweetness, it would be 
 difficult to conquer. 
 
 Lady C. My dear Guy — that tune again! 
 Don't you know any other? 
 
 Guy. Nothing so beautiful, Aunt Peggy. But 
 I hope I haven't disturbed you.^* 
 
 Lady C. No, dear; I had finished my little 
 siesta. 
 
 Guy. [With a little, merry, backward shake of 
 his leg at Lady C.'s last word.] 1 came to see 
 if Sylvia would stroll round to the riding school, 
 and have a look at Clara — she's getting on splen- 
 didly. 
 
 Lady C. Sylvia is at her Debating Society. 
 [Sits. 
 
 Guy. Debating Society! Lord! — all girls un- 
 der twenty-five, aren't they? 
 
 Lady C. Yes; I think so. 
 
 Guy. What on earth do they debate about? 
 
 Lady C. Well, last time it was Women's Suf- 
 frage and 
 
 Guy. [Quickly.] Which side did she take? 
 
 Lady C. Against it — of course. 
 
 Guy. [Relieved.] That's all right. What's it 
 about to-day? 
 
 Lady C. She didn't tell me — sit down, 
 dear. 
 
 Guy. Does she do much talking? 
 
 [Sits down at piano again, facing Lady C. 
 
8 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Lady C. I don't know, of course; but she has 
 keen views on most subjects — for a girl. 
 
 Guy. [With a little sigh.] She never airs 
 them to me. 
 
 Lady C. Perhaps she's afraid you would laugh 
 at her. I think it takes an older companion — if 
 it's a man — to bring her out. 
 
 Guy. Ah! the immaculate Hamilton, for in- 
 stance. 
 
 Lady C. He said, the other day, that he en- 
 joyed a talk with her immensely. 
 
 Guy. l^Good-humouredly.^ Indeed i^ Very 
 kind of him. Well — well — shall I sing you a 
 verse, Aunt Peggy? 
 
 [Begins to sing and play mournfully. 
 *' Did you ever see the devil 
 With his wooden pail and shovel." 
 [Stopping abruptly.] There's nothing like the 
 devil for a beggar who's in love. 
 
 Lady C. [Amused.] Are you in love? 
 
 Guy. Oh, no; not at all, thank you — I thought 
 I was, but I find I'm not — for the present. 
 [Plays for a minute, stops.] What a funny chap 
 Hamilton is ! Your Anglo-Indian is always a 
 little — well, you know. 
 
 Lady C. He wasn't long in India; he threw 
 up his post twelve years ago, when his wife 
 died 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE, 9 
 
 Guy. Oh, he's a widower, is he? 
 
 Lady C. Didn't you know? 
 
 Guy. Never thought about it, Aunt Peggotty 
 I should have said he was a bachelor; he 
 has the cut of one. . . . Wasn't it he who 
 put Sylvia up to having more riding lessons? 
 
 Lady C. He said they would be good for her. 
 She had never ridden in London at all, and not 
 much in the country 
 
 Guy. She didn't seem to care about it before 
 he worried round. 
 
 Lady C. I don't think she knew how lovely 
 Bexted was till he came 
 
 Guy. I wonder what made him go there. It 
 is rather off the beaten track. 
 
 Lady C. He saw Briary Way advertised, and 
 it sounded like the sort of thing he wanted. 
 
 Guy. [Thoughtfully.] You see, he's rather eld- 
 erly. 
 
 Lady C. He's only forty-two. 
 
 Guy. I believe he's gone on Sylvia. They 
 take it badly at that age. 
 
 Lady C. [Who evidently dislikes slang.] What 
 makes you think he's " gone " on her ? 
 
 Guy. Rather difficult to explain the symptoms, 
 but I know 'em — ^wonder if it's any good. He 
 had a good pull all that time in the country. Still, 
 she isn't a girl to be snapped up easily. 
 
10 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Lady C. [A little severely.'] I hope she re- 
 gards marriage too seriously to be " snapped 
 up." 
 
 Guy. Beg pardon, Aunt Peggotty, didn't mean 
 to be rude. Well, I must get back to my little 
 sister going round and round on her gee-gee. 
 
 Lady C. Are there many girls at Madame 
 Bunsen's ? 
 
 Guy. a good many. Best riding-school in 
 London now. Rummy thing for a woman to do, 
 isn't it? 
 
 Lady C. Very. I wonder what her history is? 
 
 Guy. I should think she was in a circus from 
 the way she rides — ^no one can touch her. Some 
 one said she came from Mexico. 
 
 Lady C. She seems to like Sylvia. 
 
 Guy. Shouldn't wonder — a good many peo- 
 ple do. [Thoughtfully, after absently playing 
 for a minute or two.] I think I shall go to Japan 
 and have a squint at the world in general, for 
 a year. 
 
 Lady C. [Surprised.] My dear Guy — what 
 for? 
 
 Enter Servant, with telegram 
 [Opens and reads it.] No answer. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Lady C. How tiresome! Colonel Dempster 
 can't dine to-night. Could you come, dear? 
 
 Guy. Should love it, but I'm engaged — worse 
 luck. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 11 
 
 Re-enter Sir Henry Callender. 
 
 Sir H. [To Guy.] Oh, is that you? [To Lady 
 C] I say what the deuce are they doing with 
 the library — I particularly want it this after- 
 noon. 
 
 Lady C. My dear Harry, the place simply 
 reeked of tobacco. 
 
 Sir H. Why shouldn't it? Excellent tobacco! 
 
 Lady C. But I couldn't let people take their 
 cloaks off there till I had it turned out. They've 
 taken down the curtains to fumigate, opened the 
 windows, washed everything with carbolic 
 
 Sir H. The devil 
 
 Guy. [Quickly cuts in singing.li " With his 
 wooden pail and shovel " 
 
 Lady C. Be quiet, Guy. [To Sir H.] They 
 are going to burn some pastiles, and when Sylvia 
 comes in I shall ask her to arrange some of those 
 tall lilies there. 
 
 Sir H. [Rather amused.] Oh! is that all. 
 And where is Sylvia? 
 
 Lady C. She'll be here very soon now. She 
 went to the Debating Society at Lady Redcar's. 
 
 Sir H. And what's that? [Pointing to the 
 telegram.] Some one thrown us over for to- 
 night ? 
 
 Lady C. Colonel Dempster. I asked Guy to 
 take his place, but he can't. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! [To Guy.] Why can't you? 
 
12 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Guy. Wish I could, but I'm going to dine with 
 Buckles — Empire afterwards — they've got a dan- 
 cer 
 
 Sir H. I know — Wish I were going — best 
 thing in town. 
 
 Guy. Rather! [Quickly.l I say! — Clara will 
 wonder what's become of me. Good-bye, Aunt 
 Peggotty. 
 
 Sir H. We'll go to the Empire together one 
 night, shall we? 
 
 Guy. Should like it — awfully. [Eaiit Guy. 
 
 Sir H. [Evidently glad he's gone. Turning to 
 Lady C] Sylvia won't be back just yet? 
 
 Lady C. No. 
 
 Sir H. That's all right. . . . Now!— 
 What about to-night? Would Hamilton do? 
 
 Lady C. Yes, he'd do. But I don't think we 
 ought to ask him again — just yet. 
 
 Sir H. Because — Oh, nonsense — give him 
 time. He is not the man to rush things — only 
 just got his London house — wants to see if he 
 can afford to marry again, perhaps. 
 
 Lady C. But I am certain Sylvia is fond of 
 him. We ought to have put an end of it before 
 — only I didn't see why we should. 
 
 Sir H. Neither did I — [With an inward 
 chuckle which he tries to hide.^ You are quite 
 sure you would like him for her? 
 
 Lady C. Quite — ^he is the sort of man she 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 13 
 
 ought to marry . . . and she would be next 
 us at Bexted 
 
 Sir H. Not too old? 
 
 Lady C. Why no. . . . I'm sorry for 
 Guy^ but he'll get over it 
 
 Sir H. H'm! Hamilton is a good fellow — 
 Dempster, who has known him all his life, was 
 saying so the other day — behaved well over some 
 crisis — he didn't say what. ... I like him 
 — did from the first. He's a widower, of 
 
 course 
 
 Lady C. But there are no children, and his 
 wife died long ago. . . . I'm certain Sylvia 
 cares for him. 
 
 Sir H. [^Triumphantly.'] Well, look at this 
 then. [Pulls out note and hands it to her.] Came 
 this morning 
 
 Lady C. [Reading.] " Could you see me alone 
 — this afternoon ? " — Of course it's that. [Face 
 brightening.] What have you done? 
 
 Sir H. Telephoned. He was out — but had 
 left word he'd be back at four punctually. Said 
 I'd ring him up again. [Looking torvards clock.] 
 Must go in five minutes. Shall tell him to come 
 immediately. — Lucky he lives so near, eh? And 
 you've turned out the library at the very moment 
 when I ought to receive my future son-in-law 
 there and do the heavy father. 
 
 Lady C. You must see him here. 
 
14 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sir H. It's the sort of interview no one has 
 in a drawing-room. A drawing-room is a 
 woman's place. 
 
 Lady C. I'll go before he comes. 
 Why didn't you tell me before? 
 
 Sir H. Only just had it, been at the Law 
 Courts all day, mere fluke that I came in now. 
 
 Lady C. Harry! [Laughing.] What with 
 wanting to take Guy to a music-hall, and going 
 to the Law Courts when there's a case unfit for 
 publication 
 
 Sir H. That's why — that's why 
 
 Lady C. [Shaking her head.] You'll never 
 be any better 
 
 Sir H. Never, my dear, but you are good 
 enough for us both. [Pause.] ... I want 
 to tell you something else. [Hesitates.] I ran 
 against Florence Cathcart to-day. 
 
 Lady C. [Stiffly.] Oh! Did you speak to 
 her? 
 
 Sir H. Yes — of course I did. 
 
 Lady C. How did she look? 
 
 Sir H. Not very well, poor thing — and 
 rather forlorn. [Hesitates a minute.] I felt 
 sorry for her. 
 
 Lady C. A pretty woman always gets you on 
 her side. 
 
 Sir H. I married one. 
 
 Lady C. shakes her head at the compliment. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 15 
 
 Don't you think we could let her come and see 
 us now and then, on the quiet, you know. I 
 wouldn't say anything till I had spoken to you — 
 
 Lady C. \^Quickli/.'] No 
 
 Sir H. It's years ago 
 
 Lady C. It doesn't make any difference. It 
 is giving way and condoning, that makes these 
 things possible. No one who has figured in the 
 Divorce Court shall come here with my con- 
 sent 
 
 Sir H. " Forgive us our trespasses " — they 
 do up there. [Half grave, half joking.'] 
 
 Lady C. I do. But I can't let her come. 
 
 Sir H. Then what's the good of forgiving.'* 
 — ^won't do her an ounce of good. 
 
 Lady C. A difference must be made. It is 
 only by holding the marriage tie sacred that you 
 will keep it unbroken. 
 
 Sir H. Still, you might make an exception. 
 
 Lady C. It's the exceptions that do the mis- 
 chief. 
 
 Sir H. I'm afraid she hoped 
 
 Lady C. [Passionately hut firmly.'] I can't 
 help it. I'm sorry. 
 
 Sir H. [Looks at her in dismay, shrugs his 
 shoulders, and then as if he gives up the sub- 
 ject, says] Well, I'll go back to the telephone. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Lady Callbnder alone, enter Judson. 
 
16 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 JuDsoN. J thought Sir Henry was here, my 
 lady. Madame Buns en has called. 
 
 Lady C. He will be — directly. Madame 
 Bunsen.f* — er — er — ask her — ask her to come in. 
 
 [Exit JuDSON. 
 Re-enters a minute later, announcing 
 Madame Bunsen. [Eaiit. 
 
 [Madame Bunsen is in a riding habit. 
 Her manner is slightly foreign, a lit- 
 tle stiff and distant; there is a note 
 in her voice as if uncertain of her 
 position. 
 Lady C. Oh! I didn't know you were riding, 
 or I wouldn't have asked you to come in, Madame 
 Bunsen. How do you do? 
 
 Madame B. How do you do? . . . I 
 was passing and thought I would leave a mes- 
 sage for Sir Henry. He spoke to me about a 
 mare for your daughter. Just now I heard of 
 one that a pupil may want to sell. 
 
 Lady C. He will be here directly. Won't you 
 sit down? [Madame B. shakes her head.] I 
 should like to thank you for all the trouble you 
 have taken with my — Sylvia. [Hesitates before 
 the last word, looks at Madame B., and then 
 says it as if satisfied by the inspection.'] 
 
 Madame B. [With a quick smile; she has been 
 grave before.] But I love her — best of all — 
 she is charming. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 17 
 
 Madame C. I'm delighted to hear you say 
 so. 
 
 Madame B. And so fresh — so innocent. 
 
 Lady C. She enjoys her rides immensely. 
 
 Madame B. I always keep her beside me 
 when it is possible. We have ridden many miles 
 between green hedges this spring. [Then with 
 a more formal manner.'] I fear I must not wait. 
 Sir Henry isn't at home? 
 
 Lady C. [Rings.'] Yes^ he is at home. . . . 
 I'm glad your school is doing so well. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Ask Sir Henry to come at once. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Madame B. It is doing splendidly. More 
 and more come every week. 
 
 Lady C. It is a remarkable thing for a 
 woman to do. 
 
 Madame B. [With a shrug.] It's the only 
 thing I can do — I'm not clever. 
 
 Lady C. [A little curiously.] And you have 
 to do something ? 
 
 Madame B. [Distantly.] Oh, yes. 
 
 Lady C. [Sympatheticaily, evidently warm- 
 ing to her.] You have no husband or child? 
 
 Madame B. No, I am alone. [With a change 
 of tone, looking towards garden.] How beau- 
 tiful those lilies are — how good to have that 
 garden — and in London. 
 
 Enter Sir Henry. 
 
18 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sir H. My dear Madame Bunsen — this is a 
 surprise. [Shakes hands.'] 
 
 Madame B. I heard of a mare — one minute 
 ago. I think it is just what you want. Could 
 you come and see it on Friday.'' It belongs to a 
 pupil who will be at the school that day. 
 
 Sir H. Why, certainly — ^with pleasure — de- 
 lighted. 
 
 Madame B. You'll not decide on anything 
 else till then, she is so anxious to find a good 
 home for it? 
 
 Sir H. Of course I won't — I'll come and see 
 it on Friday — make a point of it. 
 
 Madame B. That is excellent. [Turns to 
 Lady C, and says rather distantly.'] Thank 
 you so much for your reception. [About to go.] 
 
 Lady C. I'm very glad to have seen you. 
 [Seeing that Madame B. has looked again 
 torvards the garden.] I should like to give you 
 some flowers — but you couldn't carry them now. 
 I'll send you some by Sylvia to-morrow — ^if I 
 may.'' 
 
 Madame B. [Surprised.] Oh, how kind you 
 are! and it is so charming here. [Shakes hands. \ 
 I am glad I came 
 
 Lady C. So am I. 
 
 Sir H. I'll see you off. [Exeunt both. 
 
 [Lady C. goes to window l., as if to see 
 her mount. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 19 
 
 Re-enter Sir Henry. 
 Lady C. [Evidently looking after her,] What 
 an interesting woman. I wonder who she is? 
 She said she was alone — it seems strange. Why 
 is it do you suppose? 
 
 Sir H. Been projected into space without any 
 belongings, perhaps. . . . Well, I caught 
 Hamilton, he'd just come in. 
 
 Lady C. And ? 
 
 Sir H. He'll be here directly. [Looks at his 
 watch.^ In two minutes. You'd better go, my 
 dear, he mustn't see you beforehand. Be quite 
 wrong, you know. 
 
 Lady C. There he is! [Listening and laugh- 
 ing.] I'll go this way. [Exit by garden. 
 
 Enter Servant announcing 
 Mr. Maurice Hamilton. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Enter Hamilton (42), distinguished looking, 
 hair slightly touched with grey; he must 
 have charm and magnetism; a little soldierly 
 in his bearing. 
 Sir H. How do you do? Glad to see you. 
 Hamilton. How do you do? 
 
 [Looks rather anxiously towards the window. 
 Sir H. Sylvia's out, the wife's busy, so I 
 thought I'd see you here. 
 
 Hamil. [Evidently amkward.] Very good 
 of you 
 
20 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sir H. They are making an infernal havoc in 
 the library because it smelt a little of tobacco 
 smoke, and some women are going to take off 
 their cloaks there to-night. 
 
 Hamil. [Trying not to he awJcward.'\ I 
 should have thought it would remind them of 
 their own cigarettes. 
 
 Sir H. Not a bit of it . . . sit down. 
 Had your note. 
 
 Hamil. I thought it would be the best way. 
 
 [Sits down — pause. 
 
 Sir H. Anything I can do for you? [Looks 
 at him half puzzled.] Up a tree? Down a 
 hole.? 
 
 Hamil. [With a smile.] Both, and you can 
 do a great deal for me 
 
 Sir H. Both.?* 
 
 Hamil. I'd better make a plunge and be done 
 with it. I'm head and ears in love with your 
 daughter. 
 
 Sir H. Ah! I'm not surprised — frankly, 
 not surprised. . . . Have you spoken to 
 her.? 
 
 Hamil. No, I wanted to see you first. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! [A little doubtfully.] It's the 
 girl who settles the matter in these days, and the 
 father has to give in, ask what you have a year, 
 and express a hope that there are no past irregu- 
 larities. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 21 
 
 Hamil. I know. But there are irregularities, 
 though not of the usual sort 
 
 Sir H. Oh! Money, perhaps; the- 
 
 Hamil. No, not money. There's no difficulty 
 in that direction. ... I should have spoken 
 a month ago, but a chance remark fell from Lady 
 Callender and opened my eyes. I should go 
 away altogether, but — I'm hard hit — I'm a con- 
 ceited ass perhaps to think that I've a chance — 
 but 
 
 Sir H. Well? Is there any good reason why 
 there shouldn't be? Out with it, Hamilton, what 
 is it? 
 
 Hamil. You think I'm a widower — I'm not. 
 
 Sir H. Not? 
 
 Hamil. The woman I married is alive. I 
 divorced her. 
 
 Sir H. The deuce! [After a pause.'] You 
 divorced her? 
 
 Hamil. Yes. Two years after marriage. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! Well; this is a pretty kettle of 
 fish — divorce — any mention of it is the deuce in 
 this l^ouse. 
 
 Hamil. I was afraid so. 
 
 Sir H. [Getting up and walking about in 
 his agitation.] I think you ought to have told 
 us before — when you came to the neighbourhood, 
 or when we knew you first, at any rate. 
 
 Hamil. It never occurred to me that you 
 
22 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 didn't know — ^but it was a subject you would 
 naturally avoid — and it wasn't a matter of which 
 / was likely to speak. 
 
 Sir H. How did it happen? Was she very 
 young ? 
 
 Hamil. She was nineteen; I was eight years 
 older. 
 
 Sir H. Humph! . . . Dempster was talk- 
 ing of you the other day at the club. Does he 
 know.f* 
 
 Hamil. Of course, and probably thought that 
 you did. He was in India at the time — ^knew 
 her — ask him about it — anything you please. 
 
 [Pause. 
 
 Sir H. Poor chap — two years 
 
 Hamil. Not quite two — three before the de- 
 cree was made absolute. The other man married 
 her, and they vanished — ^went to the other side 
 of the world, I was told. It's twelve years ago. 
 
 Sir H. [Feelingly.'] What did you do? 
 
 Hamil. Chucked my appointment — ^travelled 
 — came back. For a long time I didn't dare to 
 think of her at all. Then I tried to imagine her 
 dead; it was better than the other thing — she is 
 dead to me, and has been for years. . . . She 
 had to be if I was to live. ... I tried to 
 get interested in politics — but I preferred to 
 keep in the background — I've always believed in 
 work. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 23 
 
 Sir H. Quite right — quite right. [Ten- 
 tatively.'l When did you fall in love with my 
 little girl? 
 
 Hamil. The first hour I saw her. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! 
 
 Hamil. She's too young for me^ I know that. 
 She is 
 
 Sir H. Twenty-three. Her mother is eighteen 
 years younger than I am. 
 
 Hamil. [With a rueful smile. '\ Still she may 
 regard me as a fogey. I'm forty-two. But if 
 she doesn't — ^would it be plain sailing, if I can 
 win her — when she knows what I have told 
 you? 
 
 Sir H. My dear chap, I'll be frank with 
 you. I would rather things had been different; 
 but if she asks me, I'll not stand in your way — 
 in fact, you may count on me; but her mother 
 will no more hear of it under the circumstances 
 than she will fly. She has strong views on mar- 
 riage, and a horror of divorce — guilty or inno- 
 cent, it's all the same to her, and Sylvia is much 
 more under her influence than under mine. Upon 
 my life, I believe she'd be as shocked as her 
 mother. 
 
 Hamil. Will you let me put the facts before 
 her? Could you put them before Lady Callen- 
 der? 
 
 Sir H. [Getting up and walking up and 
 
24 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 down.'] Of course I could — and a nice time I 
 should have. I'm sorry — for I like you. 
 
 Hamil. Thank you. 
 
 Sir H. [Pause.] You're quite sure the other 
 woman isn't dead? 
 
 Hamil. I know absolutely nothing about her. 
 
 Sir H. When did you hear of her last? 
 
 Hamil. Twelve years ago — she went to the 
 antipodes with the man who is now her husband. 
 
 Sir H. Why shouldn't we assume that she's 
 dead; she's dead to you, let her be so to us? 
 
 Hamil. [Firmly.] No — I couldn't do that. 
 
 [He turns away. 
 
 Sir H. [Cordially.] Quite right. But it's 
 a precious cul de sac. ... I wonder you 
 didn't tell Sylvia about it before you confided in 
 me. 
 
 Hamil. I didn't think it would be fair — ^be- 
 sides it's not a pleasant story. I hoped if you 
 were on my side that you would tell it her — 
 your views might influence hers. 
 
 Sir H. Not a bit. Women have such con- 
 founded opinions of their own in these days. 
 
 Hamil. It's one of the things I like in her. 
 
 [Pause. 
 
 Sir H. Tell her yourself — after all, she'll 
 take it better from you; but let her think it over 
 before she answers. You'll be sent away with a 
 flea in your ear, I'm afraid. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 25 
 
 Hamil. I'll risk the flea. And in the mean- 
 time ? 
 
 Sir H. You want me to get one on mine? 
 
 Hamil. Well 
 
 Sir H. I'll risk it too — and tackle the 
 mother — which is a difficult business, I can tell 
 you — half a dozen fleas wouldn't be equal to 
 that. 
 
 Hamil. You're splendid. [Grasping Sir 
 Henry's hand.] 
 
 Sir H. And we'll do it at once [Ring- 
 ing the bell.^ No time like the present. 
 
 Hamil. That is what I want 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Sir H. Has Miss Sylvia come in yet? 
 
 Servant. Just now. Sir Henry. 
 
 Sir H. Ask her if she would come to me 
 here. 
 
 \_Ea;it Servant. 
 And, my dear Hamilton, you mustn't think that 
 her mother is ungenerous, or anything of that 
 sort — she comes of a good old-fashioned family, 
 that would have been shocked at divorce and — 
 other modern inventions 
 
 Hamil. It's hardly modern. 
 
 Sir H. Of course not. Henry VIII. and all 
 kinds of people — but there wasn't much to be 
 said for some of the old usages — I think I'm 
 rather muddling it up; what I mean to say is 
 
26 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 that she's rather for high thinking and clean liv- 
 ings and that kind of thing 
 
 Hamil. So am I — we all are. 
 
 Sir H. Of course [^Trying to remember.] 
 
 Or is it is in good living? . . . That would 
 cut both ways, eh? [Laughs.] Here she is. 
 Enter Sylvia (23), graceful and pretty. 
 
 Sir H. [Going torvards her, and in a some- 
 what unsteady voice.] My dear, Mr. Hamilton 
 
 wants to have — er — a little talk with you 
 
 [E/rit Sir Henry. 
 
 Sylvia. [Who is surprised and awJctvard.] 
 How do you do? IVe just come from the De- 
 bating Society — I told you about it the other 
 day in the garden. 
 
 Hamil. I remember — and pray what did you 
 debate to-day? 
 
 Sylvia. Well — ^we had a really good subject. 
 I should like to tell you about it 
 
 Hamil. [Impetuously.] I don't want to hear 
 — I want to tell you something — on which all my 
 happiness depends — I love you — you know I love 
 you — it is uppermost — I must say it first of all 
 — I lovie you 
 
 Sylvia. Oh! 
 
 [Holds out her hands; he kisses and drops 
 them. 
 
 Hamil. I don't want you to speak yet, dear, 
 till you've heard — a fact of my life that — even 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 27 
 
 if you could love me — may make you send me 
 away for ever 
 
 Sylvia. Send you away for ever 
 
 Hamil. I thought you knew it till a month or 
 two ago — or I should have taken care that you 
 did before I came to-day — but, knowing I love 
 you — will help you, in any case, to deal with me 
 gently. 
 
 Sylvia. [Bewildered; with a little smile.l It 
 can't be anything serious — and if it is 
 
 Hamil. [Walking up and down.^ I want to 
 play the game fairly — not to urge you — to put 
 my case before you dispassionately. 
 
 Sylvia. Tell me what it is 
 
 Hamil. It is about my first marriage 
 
 Sylvia. Yes 
 
 Hamil. I was twenty-seven, and home from 
 India on six months' leave. A month before my 
 time was up I met a beautiful girl of nineteen 
 — the daughter of an Italian General who had 
 married an Englishwoman — he was dead. I dis- 
 liked the mother, but Juliet 
 
 Sylvia. Juliet? — it's such a lovely name 
 
 Hamil. [Nodding.] And she was fit for it. 
 She swept me off my feet — she was like no one 
 I had ever met. I loved her, I was infatuated, 
 I don't want to disguise that from you. 
 We were married and on board ship before either 
 of us realised what we were about 
 
28 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sylvia. And then? "^ 
 
 Hamil. She was a beautiful, passionate, un- 
 easy creature — impulsive, and so young — that is 
 the excuse I make for her. 
 
 Sylvia. Excuse — what did she do? Weren't 
 you happy? 
 
 Hamil. I was; but, looking back, I fear she 
 was not. My work occupied me a great deal — 
 she was thrown on her own resources. 
 
 Sylvia. But she had friends? 
 
 Hamil. Yes, of the sort one makes in India — 
 and a host of admirers always hanging about 
 her. I thought there was safety in numbers, and 
 I am not a jealous or suspicious man — I don't 
 think I had any reason to be till the last. It 
 was impossible to keep her down in the heat — 
 she went up to Simla with Mrs. Sinclair, the wife 
 of one of my colleagues; that was the year after 
 our marriage. There was a man called Farance 
 up there 
 
 Sylvia. Yes 
 
 Hamil. He had come out for a holiday, from 
 England. It never occurred to me that he was 
 bent on mischief — he hung about her as others 
 did — ^not more, as far as I knew. When I went 
 up to Simla she told me she had ridden with 
 him sometimes in the early morning — she rode 
 like the wind in a storm — but she seemed de- 
 lighted to go with me, too. I was pre-occupied ; 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 29 
 
 there was a threat of cholera below and it worried 
 me — perhaps I didn't notice things as much as I 
 ought to have done — I knew vaguely that she 
 danced with him a good deal^ still I never sus- 
 pected. One day — [A gesture as if he had not 
 yet got over the pain and the surprise of it^ — 
 she went off with him. 
 
 Sylvia. Went off with him? 
 
 Hamil. She left the usual note saying she 
 had gone with a man who loved her more than 
 I did. — More! [As if oblivious of Sylvia.] It 
 was so incomprehensible — for she knew that I 
 adored her, and I thought she cared for me — I 
 suppose I was mistaken. 
 
 Sylvia. What did you do? 
 
 Hamil. I did the only thing possible to help 
 her — got a divorce — set her free 
 
 Sylvia. Oh ! 
 
 Hamil. And the other man married her when 
 the formalities were complete. They went to 
 Auckland twelve years ago. 
 
 Sylvia. But where is she now? 
 
 Hamil. I don't know. I know nothing about 
 her. 
 
 Sylvia. She's living? 
 
 Hamil. I suppose so. If she were dead I 
 think I should have heard. There's nothing else 
 you need know — my marriage ended more com- 
 pletely than if death had taken it in hand — 
 
so HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 it's over and finished — and she's another man's 
 wife 
 
 Sylvia. [With a shudder.] Oh, how dread- 
 ful — and you loved her so very much? 
 
 Hamil. Yes — I did — [With a pause] — but 
 that is over and finished too, she is dead to me — 
 more than dead. For years I was dazed and 
 cared for nothing — I worked desperately — work 
 is generally a good physician. Then I went to 
 Bexted — a new world — it woke a new life in me, 
 and you came into my heart — without know- 
 ing it; gradually you filled every hour of the 
 day — I loved you — loved you — as I had im- 
 agined it would never be possible to love any 
 woman again. I thought you knew my position 
 — that your people, at any rate, did — then some- 
 thing your mother said made me realise that you 
 didn't, and that divorce was a horrible thing to 
 her 
 
 Sylvia. But it is to every one, surely — though 
 I see that it was the only thing you could do. 
 
 Hamil. It's strange to find people feeling so 
 strongly about it in these days 
 
 Sylvia. Perhaps we don't belong to these days. 
 To us marriage is the most sacred tie in the world 
 — it can only end with death 
 
 Hamil. Dearest, marriage is not a ceremony 
 said over two people in a church — it is much more 
 than that. She broke away from all that it 
 
HAMIOLTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 31 
 
 meant, or she never had it to give me — it has 
 gone to the other man. She is not in my life any 
 more. You are in my life — I think you love me 
 a little 
 
 Sylvia. Love you a little — I love you with 
 all my heart — but this makes it impossible. [With 
 a little shudder']. 
 
 Hamil. Don't say that yet, Sylvia — I entreat 
 you to think it over — to take into your heart and 
 soul the story I have told you — the love I have 
 for you — and all that yours would mean to me. 
 Don't let a thing that is ended — that no longer 
 exists — come between us, though if it must be so 
 I will respect your feeling — I will go away and 
 you shall never see me again 
 
 Sylvia. [Slowly]. I'll think it over — I couldn't 
 answer now 
 
 Hamil. That is what I want, dear, I wouldn't 
 even take an answer — the one I most desire, 
 now. Send for me, for good or ill, when you 
 are sure — I don't feel that I can wait very pa- 
 tiently — let me know my fate soon. [Takes her 
 hands and kisses them. Goes torvards the door. 
 Looks round and says] I will wait. 
 
 [Sylvia nods as if unable to speak, and 
 sits looking dazed, and straight before 
 her. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT II 
 
 Scene. — The same. 
 
 Time. — Four days later. Afternoon. 
 
 Sir Henry Callender is standing with his back 
 to the mantelpiece. Lady Callender is sit- 
 ting rather holt upright in an arm-chair — 
 evidently dismayed. There is silence for a 
 minute or two. Sir Henry pulls out a large 
 white silk handkerchief, and gives a gasp or 
 two; but he is brisk and lively as usual. Lady 
 Callender gets up, crosses the room, and 
 stands as if waiting for him to speak. 
 
 Sir H. [Looking up.] Well, my dear? 
 
 Lady C. It has been a dreadful shock. 
 
 Sir H. I thought it would be. 
 
 Lady C. I wanted it so much. 
 
 Sir H. [Soothingly.] You make too much fuss 
 about it. It's such a usual thing in these days. 
 If we hadn't been country cousins we should 
 have taken it for granted that if his wife wasn't 
 dead he had divorced her — or she him 
 
 Lady C. [Shocked.] Oh no 
 
 33 
 
34 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sir H. My dear, divorce is becoming as com- 
 mon as — ^as motor-racing or appendicitis or — any- 
 thing of that sort — only it hasn't come our way 
 any more than — living a mile from the main 
 road — motors come our way — it will, depend on 
 it and other things, too. 
 
 Lady C. You do run on so. 
 
 Sir H. So does the world — it won't stop where 
 it was, or is, never did — new ideas, different ways 
 of thought come along — can't prevent it. 
 
 Lady C. I wish you had said it was impossible 
 — that you had not allowed him to see her. 
 
 Sir H. Well, but after all, Sylvia is the person 
 it most concerns. She's three and twenty and it's 
 only fair play that she should decide — fair play 
 to them both. I expect we've given them that, 
 for I've said everything I could for it — felt bound 
 to, he's such a good chap — you probably said 
 everything you could against it, so there you 
 are. 
 
 Lady C. But if he hadn't seen her — if she 
 had been told of the impossibility 
 
 Sir H. Humph — she might have broken her 
 heart — I don't think it would have done, I don't 
 really — she's been very sensible, thought it over, 
 taken three days — and if she decides for him we 
 must make the best of it. . . . After all I 
 shouldn't be surprised if the other woman's dead 
 — she ought to be — the least she could do in fact 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 35 
 
 is to be dead. — Have you any idea what she is 
 going to do — Sylvia, I mean? 
 
 Lady C. No. She begged me not to speak to 
 her about it again. 
 
 Sir H. So she did me. 
 
 Lady C. She listened to all my arguments. 
 
 Sir H. And to all mine — we have done every- 
 thing we can — and she's had a pretty time of it, 
 between us. 
 
 Lady C. He should have told us before. 
 
 Sir H. But he thought we knew, till lately. 
 If we had been in London before this year, and 
 he had been seen at our house, some one might 
 have mentioned it — though things are forgotten 
 so soon, even that might not have happened. 
 People often think you know more about them 
 than you do. Look at the Senior Wrangler who 
 went to the theatre just after taking his degree, 
 and when the audience cheered the play he thought 
 — but you know that story. I daresay Hamilton 
 thought we knew all about . him, and looked at 
 the facts of his life with — with sympathy. 
 
 Lady C. I wonder what Sylvia means to do. 
 
 Sir H. If she accepts him — so must we — the 
 younger generation to which she belongs and the 
 new world — and the new ways of thought are 
 different from the old ones, and we mustn't be- 
 have like fogies — at least I mustn't though I am 
 one. 
 
36 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Lady C. Or I like a frump? 
 
 Sir H. You couldn't — any more than you 
 could look like one. 
 
 Lady C. Here she is. 
 
 Enter Sylvia. She looks proud and gravely 
 happy. 
 
 Sir H. Well, my dear.?^ 
 
 Sylvia. I want to see you before Mr. Ham- 
 ilton comes — I wrote to him — he will be here 
 directly. 
 
 Lady C. And — and have you decided 
 
 Sylvia. \^LooJcing at her mother and putting 
 out her hands to them.'] Oh, I am afraid to tell 
 you. . . . Yes, my darlings, I have decided — 
 and I am so happy — so glad 
 
 Lady C. Glad! 
 
 Sylvia. That the chance is given me to mend 
 that broken life. I think it was splendid of him 
 to have it out with father before he spoke to me 
 — and he didn't urge me — or not more than he 
 could help, he only told me that he loved me and 
 insisted that I should think it all over before I said 
 yes or no. And I have — I have! 
 
 Lady C. You don't feel that he is still mar- 
 ried } 
 
 Sylvia. [With a thrill in her voice.] No — o — o, 
 mother. That marriage is more completely at an 
 end than if she were dead. 
 
 Lady C. Sylvia! 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 37 
 
 Sir H. You're quite right — in my opinion, 
 quite right. 
 
 Sylvia. For then he might have been think- 
 ing of her — loving her all these years. Dream- 
 ing of an eternity with her by-and-by. 
 
 Sir H. Naturally. 
 
 Sylvia. It would be far worse to marry him, 
 and worse in him to marry again, if she had loved 
 him to the last moment of her life; it would mean 
 forgetfulness, or seem like playing her false be- 
 cause she wasn't here any longer. But this is 
 different. 
 
 Sir H. Quite right. Unless you have good 
 reasons you ought never to marry again — or 
 marry at all in fact. I think there are reasons 
 why people may marry twice — but I daresay it 
 will lead to embarrassments in the next world — 
 at least it may 
 
 Lady C. [Distressed but affectionate.] Oh, 
 you do talk such nonsense, Harry. 
 
 Sir H. — But as you say this is different. 
 
 Sylvia. She killed his love for her. 
 
 Sir H. There was nothing to hold them to- 
 gether in fact but the marriage ceremony. 
 
 Sylvia. And the law annulled that. 
 
 Lady C. It was a marriage in the sight of 
 God. And she promised to be faithful to him 
 all her life. 
 
 Sylvia. And in the sight of God she broke 
 
38 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 that promise, and the law recognised that she had 
 broken it. They became strangers again. She 
 married another man, and she's that man's wife — 
 not Mr. Hamilton's. 
 
 Sir H. I should think you made a very good 
 debater, Sylvia. And in this instance there's been 
 that most eloquent counsel — a woman's heart — to 
 plead his cause. 
 
 Sylvia. Oh, father, but I've used my head, 
 too. I've argued with myself, leaving my heart 
 out of the question. I have put all the reasons 
 against it before myself 
 
 Sir H. Oh! ~ 
 
 Sylvia. I didn't want to be weak just be- 
 cause 
 
 Sir H. Of course not — you have taken counsel 
 — as I say. 
 
 Lady C. [Slowly.] And if this woman were 
 in London — if you met her? 
 
 Sylvia. [Di-arving back as if she had not con- 
 sidered this.] But she's not 
 
 Sir H. She's on the other side of the world 
 — he doesn't know where, he hasn't seen her for 
 twelve years — more — not since the decree was 
 made absolute and she married the other. 
 
 [Lady C. gives a little shudder at " Decree." 
 
 Sylvia. Surely God and man alike have set 
 him free? 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 39 
 
 Lady C. And suppose one day you met her, 
 face to face? 
 
 Sylvia. I hope I may never do that! 
 
 Lady C. But you must realise it — it's quite 
 possible. 
 
 Sylvia. [Slowly. "l I don't think I should 
 mind — I should know that in heart and thought 
 they were strangers. If he cared, it would be 
 different. [Turns away distressed.^ It's no good, 
 I can't give him up — be kind to me — help me 
 
 Sir H. [Caressingly.'] Kind to you, my dear 
 — why we couldn't be anything else. . . .I'll 
 leave you with your mother, she wants you to be 
 happy — it's the thing she wants most in the world 
 — ^that's why she hesitates so — that's why. 
 
 [Ejcit to garden. 
 
 Sylvia. [Turning ^o Lady C] Mother, he's 
 the whole world to me. Won't you face it, won't 
 you see it as I do? She's more than dead to him; 
 she went out of his life years ago and into an- 
 other man's. He is free. And you like him? 
 You liked him so much at Bexted 
 
 Lady C. He is the only man I ever hoped you 
 would marry — till I knew this. [Evidently has a 
 long struggle with herself.] But I will try and 
 look at it with you and your father, since you 
 don't feel as I do about it. [Sylvia kisses her 
 hand gratefully.] I'll do anything that will make 
 
40 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 you happy. . . . [Sylvia gives almost a sob 
 of relief.] He'll be here directly. 
 
 Sylvia. Yes, he'll be here [Sir Henry is 
 
 seen near the window.] When he comes send him 
 to me — tell him I shall be by the lavender bushes. 
 I would rather see him out there. 
 [Exit by garden, passing her father, who re-en- 
 ters. 
 [Lady C. makes a little gesture and is about to 
 speak when Servant enters, followed by 
 Colonel Dempster, a military-looking man 
 of about five and forty; all through the in- 
 terview it is evident that he has great regard 
 for Hamilton. 
 Servant. Colonel Dempster. [Ea;it Servant. 
 [The Callenders look rather put out for 
 a moment, but recover quickly. 
 Sir H. Oh, how do you do? 
 CoL. D. How do you do? [Turning to Lady 
 C] I came to apologise for my absence the other 
 night. 
 
 Sir H. Don't mention it — that sort of thing 
 will occur at the best-regulated dinner-parties 
 you know. [Pause.^ We are expecting — er — 
 Hamilton. 
 
 CoL. D. I saw him at the Club yesterday — he 
 seemed rather preoccupied. 
 
 Lady C. You've known him a long time, Col- 
 onel Dempster? 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 41 
 
 Col. D. a very long time. 
 
 Lady C. And you like him? 
 
 Col. D. I've the greatest regard and respect 
 for him. 
 
 Sir H. [To his wife.'] You hear that. 
 
 CoL. D. [Looking round.] Is there [with a 
 smile] some special reason for this question? 
 Enter Servant announcing. 
 
 Servant. Mr. Maurice Hamilton. 
 
 Sir H. [Going forward.] Ah, there you are 
 — how do you do? Heard you were coming. 
 
 Hamil. [A little awkwardly, after shaking 
 hands with Sir Henry.] How do you do, Lady 
 Callender ? 
 
 [She shakes hands and says nothing. 
 
 Hamil. I didn't expect to find you here. 
 
 Col. D. I've only come for five minutes — with 
 an apology. I am going directly. [Significantly, 
 
 Hamil. [With a smile.] You needn't. . . . 
 [In a low eager tone to Lady C] I had a note 
 telling me I might come. 
 
 Lady C. I know. 
 
 Hamil. She's not here? 
 
 Sir H. [With a merry nod.] She's in the 
 garden. 
 
 Hamil. [To Lady C] May I go to her? 
 
 Sir H. She's waiting for you. 
 
 Hamil. [Turning quickly to the window — 
 when he gets there stops, looks round with a happy 
 
42 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 face, and says to Sir H., nodding at Dempster.] 
 Tell him. He is the best friend I have. 
 
 Col. D. I think I can make a good guess. As 
 a matter of fact, I have expected it since I saw 
 them together last month. He's a fine fellow — 
 I'm very glad. 
 
 Lady C. I'm miserable about it 
 
 CoL. D. My dear lady! Miserable? She'll 
 be immensely happy. 
 
 Lady C. But the divorce.^ We knew nothing 
 of it till three days ago. 
 
 Col. D. Well, but he was on the right side. 
 
 Lady C. \^Shuddering.^ I hate divorce. 
 
 Sir H. And I maintain that it is a very wise 
 provision. A man has a wife who doesn't care 
 for him — or has changed her mind — likes some- 
 body else — is unfaithful — best thing he can do 
 is to let her go to the other man — in fact, what 
 else is he to do with her^ Unless he shoots her — 
 and then he'd be hanged. [To his wife.] I as- 
 sure you, my dear, that to object to it only shows 
 that you are old-fashioned and — and early Vic- 
 torian. [Appealing to Colonel D.] I believe 
 that's one of the worst things that any one can 
 be called. 
 
 Col. D. Quite. Almost fatal. So bad that 
 it ought to be libellous, whether it's true or not. 
 [Turning to Lady C] Believe me, my dear lady, 
 you've nothing to be uneasy about. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 43 
 
 Lady C. [With a little smile and shrug.'] I've 
 given way. They are together now. [Looking 
 towards the garden.] 
 
 Sir H. It's an excellent thing to sweep out 
 prejudices. Besides, I always vote for doing the 
 best one can for everybody — ^especially for a 
 pretty woman, or a man who is a good fellow; it 
 makes the world easier and pleasanter. 
 Now tell us something about Hamilton. You knew 
 him in India? 
 
 Col. D. Oh, yes — and before that — knew all 
 his people. 
 
 Lady C. Did you know his wife? 
 
 CoL. D. I did, indeed. 
 
 Lady C. And her people? 
 
 Col. D. Only the mother — who wasn't much 
 good to her — in a rackety set, and took lovers as 
 the natural accompaniment of marriage, of life, 
 even in middle age. When I knew her she was 
 a widow 
 
 Sir H. Of course, they always are. Girl 
 badly brought up, no doubt — what was she like? 
 
 Col. D. a strange, beautiful creature. I didn't 
 see much of her in India. It all happened up 
 at Simla. 
 
 Lady C. [A little cynically.] Like a Kip- 
 ling story. 
 
 Sir H. Those stories shouldn't be encouraged — 
 you see they come true, sometimes. But they're 
 
44 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 amusing to read — I thoroughly enjoy them — 
 especially when they — well — when they go a little 
 bit off the rails. 
 
 Lady C. Oh! [Impatiently shaking her head, 
 hut amused and indulgent, as she always is with 
 her husband."] 
 
 CoL. D. People were very sorry for him. He 
 was frightfully cut up. 
 
 Sir H. Of course — of course. Should be my- 
 self. What was the other man, Farence — yes, it 
 was Farence — like? 
 
 Col. D. Good-looking, and women liked him. 
 She bolted with him quite suddenly, no one sus- 
 pected anything till it was done. 
 
 Lady C. Was Mr. Hamilton fond of her? 
 
 CoL. D. Devoted — but he was fearfully over- 
 worked and harassed. He got a divorce — wanted 
 to settle money on her, but she refused it. 
 
 Sir H. That was decent of her. 
 
 Col. D. Oh, yes — and no matter what she did, 
 she was a charming girl, with nothing vicious 
 about her. She and Farence disappeared, and 
 nobody heard anything more of them — or of 
 Hamilton either, except through the papers, 
 though there was no reason why he should bur- 
 row out of sight. 
 
 Lady C. He was sensitive, of course. I like 
 him for it. 
 
 Sir H. He took a little place next to us at 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 45 
 
 Bexted a year or two ago. Used to take long, 
 lonely rides — saved me from a nasty spill one 
 day — that's how we came across him. He 
 didn't want to know anybody, we had to force 
 ourselves on him. 
 
 CoL. D. Oh, that was it. [Getting up and 
 making a movement of departure.] Look here, 
 I'll go before these young people re-appear. I 
 should feel de trop. 
 
 Sir H. Not a bit of it. You can congratulate 
 them. 
 
 Col. D. I think I'll do it another time, if 
 you'll let me. [Shaking hands with Lady Cal- 
 LENDER.] I am glad I came in, if it has given 
 you any comfort. If I had a girl, I should be 
 only too delighted if he married her. 
 
 Sir H. [Going towards the door with him.] 
 
 And so will she be. [Outside the door.] Very glad 
 
 to have seen you. [Re-enters. 
 
 [Lady C. is standing by the sofa, looking 
 
 out towards the garden. 
 
 Sir H. Well, is that all right? [She nods and 
 he puts his hand on her arm.] You know, the 
 fact is you didn't like being worsted after setting 
 up a fine moral fence and saying no one shall 
 get over it. 
 
 Lady C. [Smiling.] Perhaps that had some- 
 thing to do with it. 
 
 Sir H. It never does to make a hard and fast 
 
46 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 rule, it's sure to get some knocks or be kicked 
 aside. An open road to walk on — an open mind 
 to live with, and you are safe. 
 
 Lady C. I know. 
 
 Sir H. [Following direction of her eyes.'] 
 Here they come. She's radiant! What a nice 
 chap he looks — I don't wonder — should do it my- 
 self if I were a woman — Ah! [Sound of satisfac- 
 tion.] 
 
 [Hamilton and Sylvia appear at window. 
 They hesitate for a minute and then en- 
 ter. Sylvia goes up to her mother 
 
 Sylvia [Joyfully.] Mother, dear! [Lady C. 
 folds her to her heart and kisses her.] And Mau- 
 rice 
 
 Sir H. It's evidently all right. [Wrings 
 Hamilton's hand.] My dear fellow, may you 
 indeed be happy. God bless her! — [Putting his 
 arm round Sylvia] — and make her so. 
 
 Hamil. I will — I promise you I will. [Turn- 
 ing to Lady C] And you will trust me? 
 
 Lady C. [Brightening up a little.] Yes, I 
 give her to you — I trust her to you. [Gives him 
 her hand.] 
 
 Sylvia. [Shy, but radiant.] I want to tell 
 you both — that your child is the happiest, proud- 
 est girl in the world. 
 
 Hamil. That's good hearing for me. 
 Enter Guy Armitage. There is a little hesita- 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 47 
 
 Hon and awkwardness which he perceives and 
 evidently does not know how to account for. 
 Guy. [Hesitating by the door.] How do you 
 do, every one. 
 
 Sir H. Oh!— Come in, Guy 
 
 Sylvia. How do you do. 
 
 [Nods to him and turns to Hamilton. 
 Guy. [Looking round.] Anything going on? 
 
 Sir H. Oh! WeU 
 
 Lady C. Guy, dear, come in. 
 
 [Guy comes forward and evidently takes 
 in the situation. Pause. 
 
 Sir H. Well 
 
 Guy. [Constrained, and looking at Hamilton 
 and Sylvia, who are standing together.] The 
 Governor sent me round. Clara's a bit dull, and 
 he thought we might get up a party and go some- 
 where. 
 
 Sir H. Capital! We ought to do something 
 to-night — don't you think so — [looking towards 
 Sylvia and Hamilton] — ^just the time.^ 
 Sylvia. Not to-night — I couldn't, dear. 
 
 [Turns to Hamilton again. 
 Lady C. [To Guy.] And I don't think / 
 
 could. You must tell your father that — that 
 
 Sir H. Why shouldn't you all come and dine 
 here? That's a good idea, eh? What do you say, 
 Sylvia? 
 
 Sylvia. [Who has been talking beamingly to 
 
48 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Hamilton.] Yes? Say to what? I didn't hear. 
 [To Guy.] I'm dreadfully rude — do forgive me. 
 
 Sir H. [To Lady C] Look here — is it go- 
 ing to be any sort of secret? 
 
 Lady C. You must ask Sylvia. 
 
 Sylvia. Why should it be a secret? Espe- 
 cially from Guy. [LooMng up at Hamilton.] 
 He has always been one of us. 
 
 [Guy evidently perceives what is coming, 
 and pulls himself together. 
 
 Lady C. Yes — and always shall be. 
 
 [Evidently fond of him. 
 
 Sylvia. [Going forward to him.] Guy, dear, 
 wish me — wish us both — happiness. I'm engaged 
 to Maurice Hamilton. 
 
 Guy. [Rather ruefully for a moment.] Thought 
 there was something in the air when I came in. 
 [Recovering.] I wish you everything — «very^ 
 thing in the world that's good. You know it — 
 dear old girl. Hamilton [holding out his hand] 
 you're in luck. 
 
 Hamil. Yes, I'm in luck. 
 
 Guy. [Unconsciously retreating backwards to- 
 wards the piano.] When did it happen? 
 
 Sylvia. Just now. 
 
 Sir H. No one knows it yet outside this room. 
 You came in at the — the, what do'ye call it, psy- 
 chological moment. 
 
 Guy. When's it to be? 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 49 
 
 Sir H. Nothing like Guy for coming straight 
 to the point, eh? 
 
 Hamil. It's to be soon — as soon as possible; 
 there's nothing to wait for. 
 
 Sylvia. Oh, I didn't say that. 
 
 Sir H. Trousseau, finery .f* As much as you 
 like, my dear. 
 
 Guy. It's rough on me, anyhow. 
 
 Lady C. Rough on you.'' 
 
 Guy. I sha'n't be here to pew-open at the wed- 
 ding. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! Not here? 
 
 Guy. I told the Governor this morning — go- 
 ing to make tracks for Japan 
 
 Sylvia. Tracks for Japan? 
 
 Guy. That's it. I want to see what the world's 
 like the other way up. 
 
 Sir H. Oh! 
 
 Guy. [Solemnly,'] But I don't know how 
 you'll get through it without me. 
 
 Sylvia. Neither do I. Couldn't you put the 
 Japanese off for a bit? 
 
 Guy. [Backing towards the piano — looks round 
 him with somewhat forced merriment.] I fear 
 not. It's now or never for the little Japanese — 
 the time has come and the Governor's willing — 
 so we'll have a little tune. [Begins to play. 
 
 ** Did you ever see the devil ** 
 
 [Lady C. makes a little gesture.] 
 
50 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Lady C. That everlasting song! 
 Sir H. He'd sing it in church if he came, 
 wouldn't he? 
 
 Guy. Rather. [Sings 
 
 [Sylvia, laughing, goes a step nearer the 
 piano. 
 Sir H. [^ Joins in lustily.^ 
 " Did you ever see the devil 
 
 With his vrooden pail and shovel " 
 
 Enter Servant rvith a note, hands it to 
 Sir Henry. Guy continues to play 
 softly. 
 Sir H. [Reading note.^ It's from Madame 
 Bunsen. 
 
 Guy. [Stops.] Oh, yes, I forgot, I meant to 
 tell you she's going away for a bit — this after- 
 noon. 
 
 Sylvia. What does she say, father? 
 Sir H. Says she has to go to the country sud- 
 denly; will I wait a week or ten days about the 
 mare? Of course I will. 
 
 Guy. By George, you should have seen her 
 
 this morning whirling round that school 
 
 Sylvia. Isn't she wonderful? I do like her 
 so. You know she came here the other day, Guy? 
 Guy. No; I didn't hear that — came here? 
 Sylvia. And mother fell in love with her — 
 sent her some flowers yesterday — Madame Bun- 
 sen was so pleased — she almost wept. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 51 
 
 Lady C. I should like to know her history — 
 there was something very attractive in her. 
 
 Sir H. Handsome woman — you've seen her — 
 haven't you, Hamilton? 
 
 Hamil. No; but I should like to — can't think 
 why I haven't — she goes out with her pupils, 
 doesn't she? 
 
 Sylvia. Yes; but she always takes us outside 
 London, right into the country, as fast as pos- 
 sible. You must see her — Maurice. 
 
 [In a tone that shows the name is new to 
 her. 
 Hamil. I want to see her. 
 
 Sylvia. [To Hamilton.] You might come to 
 the school and look on at me, too. 
 
 Hamil. [Nods to her with a tender smile.] 
 I will. 
 
 [Guy begins to play again, the Lohengrin 
 Wedding March, and looks up at Sylvia 
 half -derisive, half -pathetic. 
 Sylvia. [Laughing and confused.] You horrid 
 boy! 
 
 [Lifts his hand from the keyboard. Ham- 
 ilton, who is standing well aruay from 
 them, looks amused, and says nothing. 
 Lady C. Some people won't have that March; 
 they say it's unlucky. 
 
 Sir H. [Who is looking at Madame Bunsen's 
 letter, turning to Hamilton.] Can't make out 
 
52 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 her name. Is it Julia — no Suzette ?— curious 
 hand she writes? 
 
 [Hands letter to Hamilton. 
 [Guy, who has got his hand free from 
 Sylvia, triumphantly launches into the 
 Wedding March again. 
 Sir H. You young scoundrel! 
 
 [Laughing, turns from Hamilton, and go- 
 ing towards Guy. Sylvia takes Guy's 
 hands off the piano again, with a happy 
 laugh. 
 Hamil. [Whom no one notices, looks at the 
 letter as if transfixed.^ Juliet! 
 
 Sir H. Let's have the devil again. [Begins 
 to sing. 
 
 [Guy plays it again, the group at the 
 piano sing it. Hamilton stands alone, 
 petrified — the letter falls from his hand. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT III 
 
 Scene. — Sylvia's sitting-room — a pretty white 
 room with flowers, etc. — mullion window. 
 
 Time. — Ten days later, morning. 
 
 Hamilton and Sylvia discovered sitting together. 
 Sylvia is happy all through this scene — 
 confident in the future. Hamilton is moody 
 and absent, jerky and happy all by turns. 
 
 Sylvia. But, Maurice, dear, I thought you 
 wanted to be in London. I have always lived 
 in the country, except for three months every 
 spring, and don't mind how quiet it is, nor how 
 far away — I shall have you and that is all I 
 want. 
 
 Hamil. l^He lifts her hands and kisses them.^ 
 And you won't miss the Debating Society? 
 
 Sylvia. No, I shall miss nothing, and the De- 
 bating Society won't have married people. 
 I long to explore the library at Briary Way — 
 there are such lovely rows and rows of books — I 
 should like to have a little writing-table of my 
 own there 
 
 Hamil. You shall explore as much as you 
 
 like — you shall have six writing-tables 
 
 53 
 
54> HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sylvia. No, thank you, one will do. 
 But I am certain to make all manner of changes. 
 I shall love to fuss about the house as mother 
 does — I look forward to it as part of — of 
 
 Hamil. Part of the show? [Amused.'\ You 
 shall fuss to your heart's content. 
 
 Sylvia. I can't believe that I shall be living 
 there with you, in a little while. I think we ought 
 to have loose chintz covers in the drawing-room 
 — those brocaded ones are handsome — I only saw 
 them once of course — but 
 
 Hamil. You shall have covers and curtains and 
 everything else you like, my dear. I was wonder- 
 ing to-day if you would care for some ponies to 
 drive. I might get you a pair. 
 
 Sylvia. I should love them — but we will ride 
 too — long rides ? I can take them now — or all my 
 lessons will have been thrown away. You will let 
 me ride? 
 
 Hamil. Yes. [With a little change in his man- 
 ner.] — If you like 
 
 Sylvia. Madame Bunsen will be quite cut up 
 at your stopping my lessons. She was so kind to 
 me. She didn't say much, you know — she never 
 talked to the pupils — ^but she generally kept me 
 beside her on all those long rides into the country 
 this spring — [with a little happy sigh.] Oh! it 
 was lovely! I think she knew how much I liked 
 being near her. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 55 
 
 Hamil. [Trying to hide his dismai/.] Did she? 
 
 Sylvia. [Nods.] I used to find myself looking 
 in her direction and listening to the least word 
 she said. I mean to go and see her when she 
 comes back. 
 
 Hamil. Why should you — better not. 
 
 Sylvia. Oh, but I should like to — and to tell 
 her about you. 
 
 Hamil. I would rather you didn't 
 
 Sylvia. [Surprised but unsuspicious.] Then 
 I won't. She is not back yet. 
 
 Hamil. I know — [This is evidently a slip and 
 he adds quickly.] I inquired — I was passing — - 
 Perhaps you might send her a note of apology — 
 that would be enough — and we shall be far away 
 soon. 
 
 [Pause, he crosses the room. 
 
 Sylvia. Do you know, Maurice, I think you 
 have taken a dislike to your house in Kensington 
 Square ? 
 
 Hamil. No, but I don't want to live there — at 
 present. 
 
 Sylvia. [Quite unsuspiciously.] I wonder you 
 took a house at London. 
 
 Hamil. I bought it on an impulse from Fisher, 
 who was going off to Vienna. That day at Bex- 
 ted when he stayed behind instead of going to 
 hear your father's speech — I thought, for the 
 first time, that perhaps you cared [Sits 
 
56 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sylvia. [Softly.] I did! 
 
 Hamil. I was always a castle builder, and 
 when I saw that house, I had a vision of your go- 
 ing up and downstairs — lately I've sometimes fan- 
 cied I could hear your dress rustle and see you 
 coming down ready for the theatre or the Opera — 
 you told me once that you would like to go often 
 to the Opera [she nods] — you shall. 
 
 Sylvia. What else have you imagined, Mr. 
 Dreamer ? 
 
 Hamil. Quiet evenings in the winter, sitting 
 by our fireside — you and I 
 
 Sylvia. Opposite each other like Darby and 
 Joan? 
 
 Hamil. Perhaps sometimes they sat on the 
 same side.^ 
 
 Sylvia. I wonder 
 
 Hamil. I think it's probable. . . . You 
 don't want dinner-parties or to know crowds of 
 people.^ 
 
 Sylvia. No, I don't. . . . [Tenderly.] All 
 the castles you have built shall stand and the 
 dreams come true. Oh, we'll be so happy, but — 
 [A little puzzled] I don't think you believe it yet. 
 
 Hamil. Sometimes I don't . . . [Gets up 
 and walks about, then stops suddenly.] I can't 
 . . . Say that it will go on — that you love me. 
 
 Sylvia. I love you. I have said that a good 
 many times lately 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 57 
 
 Hamil. And the old mistake — my mistake, 
 makes no difference — you are sure? 
 
 Sylvia. I will make up to you for it 
 
 Hamil. And nothing shall come between us? 
 You've gripped the facts — you know what you are 
 doing ? 
 
 Sylvia. I gripped them that first day, and I 
 have thought it all out since — I know what I am 
 doing, nothing shall come between us. 
 
 Hamil. \With his arms round her.] And you 
 don't mind the quiet marriage? 
 
 Sylvia. I like it better, there will be more you 
 in it, and less crowd, than there would have been 
 if we had the usual fuss. 
 
 Hamil. And then we'll go away to the other 
 side of the world. 
 
 Sylvia. [QuicJclt/.] Not to the other side of 
 the world — we'll keep to this side, our side. 
 
 Hamil. We will — our side — France and Spain. 
 
 Sylvia. Or Italy — I've never been 
 
 Hamil. [Uneasily.] Not Italy. But we'll go 
 to heaps of beautiful places 
 
 Sylvia. That you've never seen with any 
 one else. [With more meaning than she knows in 
 her voice.] 
 
 Hamil. [Repeating tenderly.^ That I've never 
 seen with any one else. [Passionately.^ Oh! 
 Once more — it's too good to be true. I'm not too 
 old for you, too battered, too grumpy and moody? 
 
58 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sylvia. No! And battered? You are not bat- 
 tered, 
 
 Hamil. [^Taking her hands and kissing them.] 
 I love you. 
 
 Sylvia. [Looking at her own hands which he 
 still holds,] When is my ring coming back? I 
 wish it hadn't been too big, I want to wear it. 
 
 Hamil. To-morrow. [With a change of man- 
 ner.] By the way I've something else for you; I'd 
 forgotten that, what a ruffian I am! [Feels in his 
 pocket.] But where is it? 
 
 Sylvia. Oh! 
 
 Hamil. Oh! [Mimicking her in fun.] You 
 said that just like your father. [Kisses her.] 
 
 Sylvia. [Laughing.] Did I? 
 
 Hamil. [Quite happy and gay.] Where the 
 deuce is it? [Feeling in his pockets.] By Jove! 
 What did I do with it? What an ass I am, it's 
 not there — I can't have lost it. 
 
 Sylvia. What is it? Do tell me. 
 
 Hamil. It's something in a little case 
 
 Sylvia. Another ring? 
 
 Hamil. [Still busy with his pockets.] No, not 
 another ring — yet — something else — to wear round 
 
 your neck. Oh! I suppose it's all right 
 
 [Sits down. 
 
 Sylvia. [Laughing.] What have you done with 
 it? Tell me what it's like. 
 
 Enter Servant with little package on tray. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 59 
 
 Hamil. By Jove! Is this it — perhaps I 
 dropped it — Oh, no, it's too big. 
 
 Sylvla. [Taking package. Exit Servant.] 
 Why! It's Guy's writing. He's coming in this af- 
 ternoon to say good-bye. [Opens itJ\ What a 
 lovely bangle! It's a wedding gift. Oh, Maurice! 
 a wedding gift, the first one I've had. 
 
 Hamil. They'll come 
 
 Sylvia. [Opens a note and readsJ\ ** Dear 
 Sylvia, I'm not going to see you this afternoon, 
 I've funked saying * Good-bye,* and I'm off. 
 Every good wish. Wear this sometimes in re- 
 membrance. Renewed congratulations to Ham- 
 ilton. Your affectionate old playfellow, Guy." 
 — Guy's gone! . . . Oh, I am so sorry! — 
 I shall miss him. 
 
 Hamil. He's a good chap — ^what an awfully 
 nice bangle. [Business. 
 
 Sylvia. [Business with if.] Isn't it a dear.^ 
 But why — why didn't he come — I'm so sorry not 
 to see him again — you can't think what he has 
 been — all my life. His mother was my mother's 
 greatest friend — ^that's why he calls her Aunt 
 Peggotty. 
 
 Hamil. I know, and you are all very fond 
 
 of him — I'm awfully sorry for him, poor chap. 
 
 I say, do you mind if I rush back to 
 
 the House and see if that thing is there? I 
 
 might have left it in the cab and if so, I'll tele- 
 
60 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 phone to Scotland Yard — I'm rather uneasy about 
 it. I shouldn't be more than a quarter of an 
 hour gone. [Gets up suddenly.^ Let's go to- 
 gether. Come with me — in a taxi. 
 
 Sylvia. No. Go alone if you don't mind, I'll 
 wait for you here. You'll be quicker without 
 me, and I'm rather upset at not seeing Guy 
 again. 
 
 Hamil. [With a little sympathetic sound.'] Of 
 course you are! I'll be back in a quarter of 
 an hour. [Turns to go, then suddenly comes 
 back, takes her face between his hands and looks 
 at it gravely.] My dearest, I love you! 
 
 [Exit Hamilton. 
 [Sylvia alone, sits thinking, then gets up 
 and makes business about the room. 
 Looks at her bangle, rings the bell. 
 Enter Servant. 
 Sylvia. Judson, has the dressmaker sent? 
 JuDSON. No, miss. 
 Sylvia. Let me know if she does. 
 JuDsoN. Yes, miss. [Ea^it. 
 
 [Sylvia looks at her bangle again, puts 
 it in the case, says " Dear old Guy ** 
 — goes to piano — plays a full minute or 
 two. 
 
 Enter Judson. 
 JuDsoN. Could you see Madame Bunsen, Miss? 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 61 
 
 Sylvia. Madame Bunsen? Oh, yes, cer- 
 tainly. Ask her to come in. 
 
 Enter Madame Bunsen in walking dress. 
 
 Sylvia [Going forward and holding out her 
 hand.'] Madame Bunsen, I thought you were 
 away still 
 
 Madame B. I have came back suddenly — 
 sooner than I expected — I only went on busi- 
 ness — I cannot bear the country, unless I am 
 riding with my pupils. 
 
 l^Sits on chair Sylvia indicates. 
 
 Sylvia. Oh! But it's lovely — you seemed to 
 like it on all those rides this Spring. 
 
 Madame B. That was different. . . . Just 
 as I was starting to come back I had a telegram 
 — that is why I am here. 
 
 Sylvia. A telegram? 
 
 Madame B. I heard of a mare before I went 
 away — I told Sir Henry. It belongs to one of 
 my pupils who is going to Egypt. He promised 
 to wait before deciding on anything. 
 
 Sylvia. Yes, but 
 
 Madame B. She is going sooner than she ex- 
 pected, and telegraphed to the school. It was 
 sent on to me. I got it this morning at the 
 station — then ran from the house with it — she 
 is so anxious to sell the mare — I think it is just 
 what you want — don't say you have one. 
 
62 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Sylvia. I haven't — here, that is — ^but 
 
 Madame B. Sir Henry told me the one you 
 had in the country was no good for London — 
 that it had a mouth like a money-lender's con- 
 science 
 
 Sylvia. I haven't — here, that is — but 
 
 Madame B. He hasn't bought you one? 
 
 Sylvia. No, but I don't want one — now. I 
 am going abroad, perhaps. Didn't you get my 
 father's letter.^ 
 
 Madame B. Oh, no; has he written about it? 
 
 Sylvia. Yes, to the school. 
 
 Madame B. They only sent on the telegram, 
 I haven't been there yet — I hurried here first. 
 What did he say? 
 
 Sylvia. He wrote to tell you that — it is quite 
 sad [with a happy smile] — I'm not coming to 
 the school any more. 
 
 Madame B. Oh, I am so sorry — you are the 
 pupil I have liked best — I shall miss you so. 
 Why is it? 
 
 Sylvia. I fear there will be no time for any 
 more lessons just at present — I'm — I'm going to 
 be married — quite soon. 
 
 Madame B. [Impulsively holding out her 
 hands.] But that is good news, I'm delighted. 
 I have looked at you sometimes and felt you 
 would be so much loved — and now it has come 
 true. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 63 
 
 Sylvia. Thank you, dear Madame Bunsen. 
 Yes, I am much loved 
 
 Madame B. That is why you look so happy! 
 I am not surprised, of course. I thought it was 
 coming. I knew it. 
 
 Sylvia. But why.^ 
 
 Madame B. Oh — h — I could see it — he's de- 
 voted to you. 
 
 Sylvia. You don't know him.? 
 
 Madame B. But I have seen him very often 
 lately, and any one could tell that he loved you; 
 it was in his face 
 
 Sylvia. He went to ask if you were back 
 this morning, but he didn't say he knew you. 
 [Puzzled.^ I wonder 
 
 Madame B. Oh, but he doesn't really, he 
 wouldn't call it knowing. He's delightful. 
 You've known him a long time? 
 
 Sylvia. A little for a long time, but inti- 
 mately — only — not quite a year. He is our neigh- 
 bour in the country. 
 
 Madame B. Not quite a year — but that is 
 a long time — unless you are cold — unless you are 
 insensible — and you are so tender. You have had 
 time to love him — to adore him. A year! A 
 lifetime can be lived in a year. 
 
 Sylvia. \^Carried away hy the other's emo- 
 tion.^ It doesn't seem long, it has gone so 
 quickly. 
 
64 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Madame B. [Not noticing Sylvia V remark 
 and going on quickly. 1 I married — for the first 
 time — a man I'd only known a month. 
 
 Sylvia. For the first time! You've been 
 married twice? 
 
 Madame B. Yes, twice. And the first time 
 I might have been happy, I could have been — 
 [in a low voice] — but it was all a sad mistake 
 — for him and me, too — and the second time I 
 was miserable, because — [with a shudder] — but 
 he's dead — one mustn't speak ill of the dead — 
 and I oughtn't to speak of these things at all 
 — you must forgive me. [Risings and her man- 
 ner becomes a little distant and strained, as if 
 she remembered that intimacy was not desirable.] 
 Let me give you my congratulations. It's not 
 likely that we shall meet again — unless you come 
 back after you are married. I am glad I came 
 to-day — and that I came the other day, too, and 
 saw your mother — she was very kind to me. 
 
 Sylvia. She liked seeing you so much. 
 
 Madame B. And now I know what you look 
 like in your home. 
 
 Sylvia. This is my own little sitting-room. 
 
 Madame B. [Walking round it.] It looks like 
 you. ... I shall think of you here. [Stop- 
 ping by the window.] There is the garden, I 
 shall imagine you walking in it with your bride- 
 groom 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 65 
 
 Sylvia. I hadn't thought of him by that 
 name. I notice that you so often use words that 
 seem almost foreign, and you make your sen- 
 tences sometimes as if you were not English. 
 
 Madame B. My father was Italian, and I 
 suppose even modes of speech descend to one. 
 
 Sylvia. [Vaguely.] Italian? 
 
 Madame B. Yes, Italian. . . . Well, I'm 
 glad I came — I wonder if ever I shall see you 
 again — perhaps not. Good-bye. I hope you will 
 be very happy — that he loves you — cloves you — 
 not a little, but with all his heart, before all 
 things — before his work — before everything. 
 
 Sylvia. He does — I know he does. 
 
 Madame B. Dear child, I am glad — it must 
 be such joy — and may you give him as much as 
 he does you. 
 
 Sylvia. I do — I will. 
 
 Madame B. [With a sigh.'] Good-bye. 
 
 [Takes her hand, holds it, and then im- 
 pulsively and yet half afraid kisses 
 her. 
 
 Sylvia. Dear Madame Bunsen, I shall never 
 forget you. I hope you will be happy, too — in 
 the future — you must have had so much trouble, 
 and yet you look so young. 
 
 Madame B. I'm thirty-three. 
 
 Sylvia. And you've been married twice! 
 
 Madame B. [As she half turns to go.^ Twice. 
 
66 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 The first time at nineteen — and the second time 
 when I was twenty-two. 
 
 Sylvia. The second time when you were 
 twenty-two! But how soon your happiness was 
 over — the first time. 
 
 Madame B. It hardly came — I waited for it 
 — but it never came. 
 
 Sylvia. He died so soon? 
 Madame B. He didn't die. 
 
 Sylvia. He didn't die. [Looking at her 
 
 doubtfully. 
 
 Madame B. He divorced me. 
 Sylvia. Oh! [Slowly.] He divorced you? 
 [An almost unconscious suspicion takes 
 possession of her. 
 Madame B. Ah! I oughtn't have said it — 
 you are shocked. Why did I? You mustn't re- 
 peat it, not to any one in the world. 
 
 Sylvia. I am sorry, and I will not repeat it. 
 [She has grown cold, and almost fright- 
 ened, she is watching Madame Bun- 
 sen, who goes towards the door, then 
 stops again. 
 Madame B. Good-bye. My congratulations 
 to Mr. Armitage. 
 
 Sylvia. To Mr. Armitage? He has gone 
 away. Didn't his sister tell you? 
 
 Madame B. No. [With a smile and forced 
 brightness.] He'll be back soon, of course? 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 67 
 
 Sylvia. Not for a year. 
 
 Madame B. Not for a year! But — it's Mr. 
 Armitage you're going to marry.'* 
 
 Sylvia. Oh, no! You've made a mistake. It 
 is Mr. Maurice Hamilton. 
 
 Madame B. [With a cry, staggers bacJc.'\ 
 Maurice ! 
 
 [She tries to smother the name. 
 
 Sylvia. [Bervildered and hardly able to 
 speak.'] You know him? 
 
 Madame B. [Trying to control herself.] I 
 did — a long time ago — he is very clever — he is 
 like no one else in the world — and you love him 
 — you will make him happy 
 
 Sylvia. [Holds out her hand to prevent her 
 from going away.] Madame Bunsen, were you 
 — ^was it you he divorced.'' 
 
 [They look at each other for a moment, 
 before Madame B. can make herself 
 ansrver. 
 
 Madame B. Yes, he divorced me. I deserved 
 it; it was my fault, not his. You knew — he 
 had divorced some one.'' 
 
 Sylvia. Yes. [Rigidly.] He told me you 
 were on the other side of the world. 
 
 Madame B. [With a little harsh laugh.] And 
 I thought he was there — I never dreamt he was 
 back in England — and here! You must let me 
 go — I would give my life not to have come here 
 
68 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 to-day. It was as if something irresistible drove 
 me — to you — to this house. 
 
 \_Goes towards the door. 
 Enter Hamilton. 
 [They stare at each other for a moment 
 in silence, Sylvia unconsciously re- 
 treats, pale and stony. 
 Hamil. [Looking at Madame Bunsen, stag- 
 gered. '\ Juliet! 
 
 Madame B. Yes, Maurice, it is I. 
 
 Hamil. What are you doing here? 
 
 Madame B. It was chance, it was fate, it 
 
 was not intentional 
 
 Hamil. What did you come for? What does 
 it mean? 
 
 Madame B. You must let her tell you. [Bows 
 her head as if stricken.^ 
 
 [Exit Madame Bunsen. 
 [Sylvia and Hamilton are left staring 
 at each other aghast and silent, 
 Hamil. What did she come for? 
 Sylvia. It is Madame Bunsen? 
 Hamil. Yes. 
 
 Sylvia. But you knew before; why didn't you 
 tell me? 
 
 Hamil. I couldn't. 
 
 Sylvia. You went to try and find her this 
 morning 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 69 
 
 Hamil. I sent — to ask if she had returned — 
 I couldn't explain then 
 
 Sylvia. Why did you say she was on the 
 other side of the world? 
 
 Hamil. I thought she was — till the hour we 
 were engaged. 
 
 Sylvia. Till the hour we were engaged? 
 
 Hamil. We were at the piano — do you re- 
 member Guy came in — while he was playing a 
 note was brought to your father? 
 
 Sylvia. Yes 
 
 Hamil. He gave it to me to read. I recog- 
 nised her writing — her name, Juliet. 
 
 Sylvia. Oh, how cruel! This is why you 
 have been so strange at times? 
 
 Hamil. Yes. 
 
 Sylvia. You should have told me. 
 
 Hamil. I couldn't. I have not known an 
 
 hour's peace since — even with you 
 
 [i4 long pause, 
 
 Sylvia. [Slorvly.] Maurice. It's no good 
 — I can't do it 
 
 Hamil. What do you mean? 
 
 Sylvia. It undoes it — it puts an end to it all. 
 
 Hamil. Why should it put an end to it all? 
 What did she say? 
 
 Sylvia. It's nothing that she said. But can't 
 you see that it's different — it's different alto- 
 
70 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 gether. When I thought she was thousands of 
 miles away, when I had never seen her, or heard 
 her voice — when I knew nothing about her — then 
 she was an abstraction, a legend, she was dead, 
 she was more than dead, but now — I couldn't do 
 it — couldn't — couldn't. 
 
 Hamil. We will go away — we will go to the 
 farthest ends of the earth if you like. 
 
 Sylvia. It would make no difference. I've 
 known her, taken her hand, she's a living woman 
 — I can't do it. 
 
 Hamil. Why should that make such a differ- 
 ence.'' She's another man's wife. 
 
 Sylvia. The other man is dead! 
 
 Hamil. Dead! [Goes back a step.'\ 
 
 Sylvia. Didn't you know? 
 
 Hamil. I knew nothing about her. Nothing 
 since the day I heard she was married to Far- 
 ence and had gone back to Auckland with him. 
 I sent my lawyer to the school this morning, and 
 told him to offer her any sum of money I could 
 manage — to say and do anything that was pos- 
 sible to induce her to go back — to go anywhere 
 — out of Europe — that can be done still., 
 
 [Pause. 
 
 Sylvia. It would be no good, I couldn't do 
 it — Maurice, it is all over 
 
 Hamil. But explain, why should you throw 
 me over now? 
 
HAMIiLTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 71 
 
 Sylvia. [Passionatelt/.] How could I marry 
 a man knowing that another woman whom I'd 
 seen and heard, remembered his loving her, re- 
 membered his kisses — his caresses just as now I 
 had them — remembered their wedding day — and 
 knew by her own memories all that he said to 
 me — that she went over it all in her thoughts — 
 sat alone — by her fireside, imagining the very 
 manner in which we sat by ours — even the things 
 we said — oh — no, no. 
 
 Hamil. It was the other man she cared for 
 — she wouldn't feel all this 
 
 Sylvia. She would — she would — a woman 
 knows. If she were dead it would be differ- 
 ent 
 
 Hamil. You said when we had our talk in the 
 garden, that you felt she was less my wife than 
 if she were in her grave, and she and I had loved 
 each other to the end. For then there might 
 have been times when I wondered if in some 
 other existence she knew of the new life I had 
 made — and felt that I had forgotten her 
 
 Sylvia. [Hopelessly.] Yes — I said it. 
 
 Hamil. But now that is impossible — she and 
 I are absolutely apart. 
 
 Sylvia. I know — I meant it — I had thought 
 it all out, but I'd not been put to the test. Now 
 I know it 'would be easier to marry you re- 
 membering her dead — than as it is. I argued 
 
72 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 to the contrary with my mother — I had an answer 
 to all her arguments — ^but words are only sounds, 
 and theories are dry husks 
 
 Hamil. Dry husks! [With a miserable half- 
 laugh.'] It sounds like the Debating Society. 
 
 Sylvia. Oh, yes, if you like — and the Debat- 
 ing Society is no good. Nothing is any good but 
 human experience, then one knows — one's instinct 
 — one's heart tells one. It isn't as if I had seen 
 her just this once — though even that would be 
 enough — I saw her every day for weeks. She 
 kept me beside her as we rode into the country 
 twice a week this spring. Once I went early 
 to school and met her by the entrance; she held 
 my hand for a minute — just now she kissed me 
 — it went through me — thrilled me — there was 
 meaning in it all — it was this. 
 
 Hamil. And you are not made of the stuff, 
 you've not the courage to throw everything to 
 the winds for the man you love, as thousands 
 of women do.^ 
 
 Sylvia. She did, I suppose, for the other 
 man — and brought misery on you. I've not that 
 courage. I believe I would go down a precipice 
 for you, but not if it dragged you down. But 
 this is beside the point — it's no question of cour- 
 age. 
 
 Hamil. Have you no thought of my happi- 
 ness, no consideration for my point of view? 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 73 
 
 Sylvia. Oh, I have, but I can't do it — it's no 
 good, Maurice, I can't: it's the penalty of the 
 sin that she committed. 
 
 Hamil. And why should it be visited on 
 me.'* 
 
 Sylvia. [Staring at him, and speaJcing as if 
 she were listening to some one, or to some higher 
 self.'] But that is the mystery of it all. The 
 wrong thing is done, the crooked deed put into 
 the world, and shame and misery hang on to it 
 and trail after it on and on, ever so far, through 
 generations perhaps — so many wrong things are 
 done, and innocent people suffer for them — 
 that is the tragedy of the world. I've thought 
 it out so often — it's the Debating Society, you'll 
 say again — no matter what it is — it is wrecking 
 us. 
 
 Hamil. [Impatiently, desperately.] Cast 
 everything to the winds and come to me. We 
 love each other. 
 
 Sylvia. I can't, I can't do it, Maurice, now 
 that I've seen her. I even love you differently 
 — I shall love you always and think of you — 
 but differently. 
 
 Hamil. Oh, it's madness, it's folly. 
 
 Sylvia. Yes, it may be. But the great events 
 in our lives are shaped by folly as well as by 
 wisdom, I can't do it — I can't, indeed. I could 
 never feel your arms round me again, and not 
 
74 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 remember the woman who^ perhaps, was think- 
 ing of us — of all she had lost — that I had 
 
 Hamil. Heaps of women marry men who 
 have divorced their wives. 
 
 Sylvia. Other women may, I can't. My own 
 happiness is wrecked on this discovery as well 
 as yours — and somehow I'm so sorry for her — 
 for a moment I saw into her heart and soul as 
 she stood there. Can't you understand how im- 
 possible it has all become? We are not all made 
 alike. It is no good blaming me for what I am, 
 or blaming her perhaps for what she is — I am 
 so made that I cannot be or do all that was my 
 dearest hope an hour ago. 
 
 Hamil. It's useless, I see it. I say it — to 
 my desolation and misery. I scout it, and am 
 desperate. I tell myself that what you say is 
 nonsense, but I feel the truth of it. Give me 
 your hands once more \hends over her hands^ my 
 dear — it has been too good a dream to come 
 true. But I shall be better for it all my life. 
 Forgive me all the pain I've caused you. I sup- 
 pose I went too far away from the world in 
 which men and women live now in my search 
 for happiness — but it's over — and I've left you 
 where I can never reach you. [Goes toward door. 
 
 Sylvia. [With a soh.'] Maurice! Maurice! 
 What will you do — where will you go? 
 
 Hamil. [A gesture of dismay — despair — 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 75 
 
 then turns and hesitates.^ Kiss me once more, 
 Sylvia ! 
 
 Sylvia. I can't — [Retreating a step.] — it is 
 different — it would feel strange — and wrong 
 
 Hamil. [Bitterly.] You are right — it is dif- 
 ferent. . . . Good-bye. [Exit Hamilton. 
 
 Sylvia. [Desperately, holding out her arms, 
 with a cry, to the closed door.] He's gone! — 
 He's gone. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 Scene. — Hamilton's study in Kensington Square. 
 A comfortable room, with books, writing- 
 table, easy chairs, S^c. Writing-table to r. 
 c. Fire burning in grate which faces au- 
 dience. Door L. c. Window r. Lamp on 
 table, SfC. 
 
 Time. — Eight months have elapsed. Late after- 
 noon. 
 
 Hamilton discovered sitting at a writing-table, 
 he arranges papers, <^c. Business. 
 
 Enter Becker with letters on tray and evening 
 paper, which he puts on the writing-table. 
 
 Hamil. Oh — thank you. 
 
 [^Takes letters, throws paper on writing- 
 table. 
 [Becker makes business at the fire — puts 
 on wood, <^c. 
 
 Hamil. [Looking up from letter and speak- 
 ing with animation.^ Oh^ Becker, I want to 
 tell you that this house is sold, the matter was 
 concluded this afternoon. I shall be going abroad 
 
 77 
 
78 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 again in a month, and everything here will be 
 finished up. Tell the servants — I vrish them to 
 know as soon as possible. Of course I shall do 
 anything I can for them. 
 
 Becker. Yes, sir. They'll be very sorry. We 
 all hoped that as the house didn't go off while 
 you were away that perhaps you would settle 
 down a bit. 
 
 Hamil. Not in England. 
 
 Becker. It's remarkable it should sell directly 
 you come back, sir, and it didn't all the time you 
 were away. 
 
 Hamil. Perhaps the agents weren't ener- 
 getic enough. 
 
 Becker. There was a good many come after 
 it, too. One lady came every month, with an 
 agent's order — but she wouldn't look at it till you 
 were back. I'd like to know if it is her that's 
 bought it. 
 
 Hamil. No, it's a parson. A lady, what sort 
 of a lady? 
 
 Becker. Well, quite a lady, sir — Mrs. En- 
 field her name was; she came again to-day. I 
 told her you were back, and she said she'd call 
 again to-morrow. You see I didn't know it was 
 sold. 
 
 Hamil. Curious thing. . . . Well, the 
 parson has it, Becker, so I'm afraid she can't. 
 Vou'U tell the servants what I've said. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 79 
 
 [He turns to the table. 
 [Exit Becker. 
 [Hamilton looks at his letters again and 
 puts them aside, gets up, takes up pa- 
 per, stops, puts it down, pokes the fire, 
 lights a cigarette, sits down doggedly 
 as if determined to shut out every- 
 thing. 
 
 Enter Becker. 
 Becker. Colonel Dempster has called, Sir; 
 will you see him? 
 
 Hamil. [Looks over his shoulder as Becker 
 enters.] Ah! [Jumps up quickly at the name.] 
 Certainly. Ask him to come in. 
 
 [Exit and re-enter Becker. 
 Becker. Colonel Dempster. 
 
 Enter Col. Dempster. [Exit Becker. 
 Col, D. My dear fellow, I'm so glad to have 
 caught you. 
 
 Hamil. [Going forward.^ I'm awfully glad 
 to see you. [Grasping his hand. 
 
 CoL. D. Was vexed to be away when you 
 returned. However, here I am. [Takes off his 
 coat.'] You got back a week ago, I hear! Glad 
 to be in England again? [They sit.] 
 
 Hamil. No, only came back for some busi- 
 ness — and to see you — going away again, directly 
 things are tidied up here. 
 
 CoL. D. H'm, sorry for that — ^hoped you were 
 
80 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 thinking better of it, was afraid you weren't 
 though, when I saw the board up outside. 
 
 Hamil. It will be pulled down to-morrow. 
 The house is sold — matter concluded to-day 
 
 CoL. D. [With a grunt.l What are you go- 
 ing to do? 
 
 Hamil. Don't know 
 
 [Pause, hands the cigarettes. 
 
 CoL. D. [Lights one.] Not made up your 
 mind? 
 
 Hamil. Some idea of going to Egypt for the 
 fag-end of the winter — wish you'd come with 
 me 
 
 Col. D. Can't, I'm afraid. I should like it. 
 
 . . . Seen any one since you came back? 
 
 Hamil. No. . . . Have you seen any one 
 lately? 
 
 Col. D. Everybody, been here all the time. 
 
 Hamil. [Uneasily.] You know what I mean. 
 
 Col. D. Of course I do, but I was afraid to 
 mention it. 
 
 Hamil. You needn't, so go on. I'm not a 
 sentimental fool — that's all over — though I curse 
 myself at intervals for having disturbed her life. 
 
 CoL. D. Well, she's got over it pretty quickly. 
 [Hamilton looks up.] You don't seem to know? 
 
 Hamil. What? 
 
 CoL. D. She's going to marry that boy. 
 
HAMrLTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 81 
 
 Hamil. You mean Armitage? [Sound of dis- 
 may.'] Well, he*s a lucky chap. 
 
 Col. D. Am not sure that I agree with you, 
 I was rather disgusted to tell you the truth, 
 might have waited a year, at least. 
 
 Hamil. My dear Dempster, she's the sweet- 
 est girl on earth. A heart's often caught in the 
 rebound. I am glad that I didn't cost her as 
 much as I feared. [Pause.'] I don't feel sure 
 that at the back of her head or the back of her 
 heart, she wasn't always in love with him — but 
 nothing occurred to make her aware of it, till 
 I upset her peace. 
 
 Col. D. Well, I must say I thought she was 
 fond of you from the look of matters. 
 
 Hamil. She was. And she's a clever girl, 
 or thinks herself one, and she liked talking to a 
 man a good deal older than herself, liked win- 
 ning him. She was probably a little bit in love 
 with the situation, and a good deal more with her 
 own splendid courage and compassion. 
 
 CoL, D. Humph. Where do the splendid 
 courage and compassion come in.'' 
 
 Hamil. Compassion for the mull I'd made 
 of my life — courage when she'd reasoned it out 
 with herself and took me in spite of all the 
 prejudice against divorce in which she had been 
 brought up — and the opposition of the mother. 
 
82 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Col. D. She should have stuck to you. 
 
 Hamil. She would, but for — what happened. 
 I perfectly understand her point of view. 
 
 CoL. D. Well, I don't — I dined there a fort- 
 night ago. Am glad to say I wasn't put next 
 the young lady, or I mightn't have been very 
 agreeable. 
 
 Hamil. I wonder if she ever thinks of me? 
 
 CoL. D. I'm coming to that. After we went 
 upstairs, she managed to get me into a corner, 
 and asked after you. 
 
 Hamil. What did she say? 
 
 Col. D. Wanted to know when you were com- 
 ing home. 
 
 Hamil. Anything else? 
 
 CoL. D. Said she'd give the world if some 
 happiness would come to you. 
 
 Hamil. {^Sound of derision.] One doesn't 
 get that very often — doesn't matter! I shall 
 take the makeshifts and get along, I daresay. 
 Anything else? 
 
 CoL. D. She told me — I think she must have 
 meant me to say it to you, somehow — that now 
 she couldn't marry anybody else — but Guy — 
 she'd known him always 
 
 Hamil. [A little cynically.] That's it — de- 
 pend upon it she cares for him more than she 
 imagines. Thank God she does. 
 
 CoL. D. Callender told me the boy had al- 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 83 
 
 ways been devoted to her. It seems he started 
 for Japan directly he heard she was going to 
 marry you, started back the moment he heard 
 she wasn't. 
 
 Hamil. Nothing like promptness in these 
 matters. 
 
 Col. D. l^Looking round.^ Why, you have 
 got an evening paper — there's a paragraph — the 
 announcement 
 
 Hamil. ^Makes a quick mvoluntary move- 
 ment forward, then hack.] Plenty of time — I'll 
 look at it presently. 
 
 Col. D. I must be going. {^Gets m^.] Only 
 looked in to make sure you were here. 
 
 Hamil. [^Hesitatingly.'] Have you seen or 
 heard anything of — of — Juliet? 
 
 CoL. D. Only what Callender told me. 
 
 Hamil. Callender ? 
 
 Col. D. It seems he w.nt round the next morn- 
 ing. He admired her and wanted to say some- 
 thing kind, I believe. He's a soft-hearted old 
 man — she had vanished — completely. The school 
 is sold — a man called Johnson runs it now. 
 
 Hamil. I knew that. 
 
 Col. D. [Half afraid, and rvith a touch of 
 tenderness.] She was a wonderful creature, I 
 shall never forget her — [Stops abruptly.] 
 
 Hamil. I wish you'd come up the Nile with 
 me. 
 
84> HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Col. D. Wish I could, my dear fellow, but 
 there's no chance of it. Perhaps I'll meet you 
 on the way back in April — I must be off. Shall 
 we dine together to-morrow? 
 
 Hamil. Should like it. 
 
 Col. D. Good. United Service at eight. 
 
 Hamil. [Fidgeting with a cigarette, and try- 
 ing not to look eager. \ Do you know when the 
 marriage is to be? 
 
 Col. D. In a fortnight. 
 
 Hamil. Ah! I shan't be here. 
 
 CoL. D. Off so soon? 
 
 Hamil. [Nods.'] I can't stand this climate, 
 and a wandering life suits me. 
 
 Col. D. Well — to-morrow. [Exit. 
 
 Hamilton goes with him, returns in a 
 moment, shuts the door, seizes the 
 paper, searches for paragraph. 
 Enter Becker. 
 
 Hamil. [Sits down at writing-table.'] Oh, did 
 I ring, I did so inadvertently, but since you are 
 here you may as well know — that I am going 
 away even sooner than I had intended — the end 
 of next week at latest. 
 
 Becker. Yes, sir. That lady I told you about 
 has called again, sir. 
 
 Hamil. Tell her the house is sold — I am 
 sorry — if she wanted it. 
 Enter very softly, behind Becker^ Madame Bun- 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 85 
 
 SEN. Hamilton's bacJc is turned. He is 
 
 busy with his letters, etc. 
 
 Becker. [Embarrassed, but mahing the best 
 
 of it.^ Mrs. Enfield would like to see you, sir. 
 
 [Madame Bunsen signs to Becker to go. 
 
 Hamil. I can't see her Becker — or any one. 
 
 Say I am sorry the house is sold. 
 
 [But Becker has gone, the door is shut. 
 Madame Bunsen is standing a few feet 
 inside the door. [Pause. 
 
 Madame B. Maur — ice. 
 
 [Hamilton gives a start, looks round and 
 rises quickly. 
 Hamil. You ! 
 Madame B. Yes, I. 
 Hamil. How did you get here? 
 Madame B. I called myself, Mrs. Enfield, 
 and followed the servant in. I had to see you. 
 I must speak to you. 
 
 [While she speaks, he retreats a little to 
 
 the other side of the fireplace and 
 
 stands where Colonel Dempster had 
 
 sat. 
 
 Hamil. I have no wish to see you — or to 
 
 speak to you. 
 
 Madame B. [Entreating, but firm.'] But I 
 
 must — I must speak 
 
 Hamil. You will be good enough to go. [Puts 
 out his hand to ring the bell which is on the left."] 
 
86 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Ids he does so, she springs forward. 
 
 Madame B.. No! Not yet! 
 
 [He, as if to escape her touch, retreats a 
 little to the right with a shrinking 
 movement. 
 There is fair play for every one — even for me, 
 and you must let me speak. You won't let me 
 write to you. I went to the lawyers, the letters 
 are there unopened. 
 
 Hamil. There is nothing to write about. It 
 is no good trying to varnish over the facts. You 
 have destroyed my chances of happiness twice 
 over, there is nothing to be said — about anything. 
 
 Madame B. If I have destroyed it three times, 
 it is no reason for my being treated with in- 
 justice. I want you to listen — are you afraid.^ 
 
 Hamil. Afraid .f* 
 
 Madame B. [Scornfully.] Yes, afraid — you 
 must be — if you will neither open my letters nor 
 hear what I have to say. 
 
 Hamil. If you have anything to say, put it 
 into three words — and then be good enough to 
 go. 
 
 Madame B. You say I destroyed your happi- 
 ness twice 
 
 Hamil. We needn't go into the first occasion; 
 on the second you destroyed all that, after years 
 of isolation and bitterness, seemed to be in 
 sight. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 87 
 
 Madame B. [Amazed.] You think I went to 
 her on purpose? 
 
 Hamil. You went [with a shrug] and the re- 
 sult you know, of course. 
 
 Madame B. [Breathlessly.] I went, but — 
 Maurice — I had no idea — I did not dream — of — 
 what was going on. I did not even know you 
 were in London — or in England — I did not know 
 where you were. 
 
 Hamil. You could easily have discovered — 
 this is nonsense. 
 
 Madame B. [Scornfully.] You are insulting 
 — as one would expect a man to be who will 
 neither hear one — nor read one's letters. Listen! 
 I never came across your name. I know now 
 that it was printed oi'ten, in connection with 
 political things, but I never read political things. 
 I knew nothing — nothing — about you. Two 
 years ago, when I came back to England, I tried 
 to find out where you were. I went to Worcester 
 — and stayed at the little inn near your sister's 
 house. 
 
 Hamil. The Forester — yes. 
 
 Madame B. I heard that you were in South 
 America — I thought London was safe to me — 
 that probably you were never coming back. I 
 started the riding-school — it was the only thing 
 I could do, and called myself ** Madame Bun- 
 sen." I knew no one — made no acquaintance — I 
 
88 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 spoke with the pupils, but that was all. I liked 
 that fair girl — something drew me to her — I think 
 she liked me — because I took pains with her rid- 
 ing, perhaps. One day she brought me some 
 flowers from her garden — her mother sent them. 
 
 Hamil. \_Cynically.'\ Her mother! — I remem- 
 ber. 
 
 Madame B. Her father came sometimes to 
 look on at her. And Mr. Armitage with his sis- 
 ter — they were all friends together 
 
 Hamil. This has nothing to do with it. Why 
 did you discover yourself to Miss Callender? I 
 should have had to tell her — ^but 
 
 Madame B. [Not allowing him to finish.] I 
 went about a mare — that one of the pupils wanted 
 to sell — a girl who was going away — she had tele- 
 graphed. Miss Callender told me she had given 
 up the riding lessons because she was going to 
 be married. I congratulated her, thinking that it 
 was Mr. Armitage. She said, " No, it was Mr. 
 Maurice Hamilton." I had not heard the name 
 spoken except by my own lips for years — it went 
 to my heart like a sword. It forced a cry from 
 me — I betrayed myself. And then you entered 
 — I remember nothing more. Oh! [With a pas- 
 sionate shudder of pain.] 
 
 Hamil. Thank you for explaining it — I am 
 glad to know. [Goes towards the hell.] 
 
 Madame B. Stop, Maurice — once more. We 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 89 
 
 shall never meet again, I will take care of that; 
 there is no occasion to be brutal. 
 
 Hamil. I have no wish to be brutal. 
 
 Madame B. I want you to know that I 
 wouldn't have done it had I known, I would rather 
 have died. I have nearly died since, I think, 
 with the misery, the madness, the knowledge that 
 I had again destroyed your life. 1 must have 
 been sent into the world to do it — twice over — 
 and each time not knowing it. 
 
 Hamil. [Bitterli/.^ You must have known the 
 first time pretty well. 
 
 Madame B. [Impetuously.'] Oh, that's be- 
 cause you don't understand — men cry out when 
 women do this or that, but they never see how 
 they have helped 
 
 Hamil. Helped! [Sound of impatience.] 
 What you did needed little understanding to make 
 it plain. 
 
 Madame B. [Bitterly.] And even that you 
 hadn't — you were always dense — you are now — 
 you never had much passion in you — you never 
 set your love for me above all else in life — or 
 things would not have happened as they did. 
 
 Hamil. This is rather a strange charge and 
 the last I should have thought you could bring 
 against me — remembering how I was carried away 
 by my love for you 
 
 Madame B. And yet you couldn't make it 
 
90 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 strong enough to hold me. When you married 
 me, I was nineteen — I had known you one month 
 — not a month. How was I to know your ways — 
 or the manner in which you expressed yourself? 
 My father was my mother's lover till the hour 
 he died — he lived at her feet — she had lovers al- 
 ways, all her life — I grew up among them, and 
 to be a woman and not loved — not loved enough — 
 seemed terrible! 
 
 Hamil. Not loved enough! [Amazed.'\ Why, 
 from the moment I saw you first — I adored you. 
 
 Madame B. For a month, the month before 
 we were married, you lived for me; you brought 
 me flowers and jewels and sweets, and the first 
 days of marriage you loved me — you loved me. 
 [Passionatelt/.'\ I felt it. But before we were 
 at the end of the voyage you had changed a little. 
 
 Hamil. I had not changed — I was going out 
 to my post — there were things I had to think of 
 — I had my work, you were too young to be in- 
 terested in it. 
 
 Madame B. I know, but I didn't want you 
 to think of anything but me, I wanted you to 
 be my lover always. I will tell you something — 
 I did not love you very much when you married 
 me — I'd known you but a little while — but it was 
 natural to be married, and I was flattered and 
 pleased. Three months afterwards I could have 
 died for love of you. There came suspicion and 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 91 
 
 jealousy — my father's Italian blood, perhaps, that 
 rose and mastered me 
 
 Hamil. Suspicious and jealous of me? 
 
 Madame B. Yes. Jealous of everything that 
 took you from me — suspicious of your absences. 
 You expected me to take your love for granted, 
 it maddened me that you could bear me out of 
 your sight — that you sent me away from you. 
 
 Hamil. You mean that I sent you up to Simla? 
 It was impossible to keep you down in the heat. 
 
 Madame B. But I would have borne the heat 
 — wanted you only to think of me — of having 
 me with you — ^with you though it killed me — ^that 
 is what a woman likes. And when you came you 
 were not impatient enough — not jealous of all the 
 men who hung about me — and I wanted you to 
 be. Out of your sight no one had a word or 
 look from me. But when you came I was des- 
 perate and wanted to make you see that you must 
 love me — guard me — ^think of me — but you didn't 
 care, you didn't care enough. 
 
 Hamil. I never dreamt of all this. Why 
 didn't you tell Mrs. Sinclair? — she would have 
 told you 
 
 Madame B. I was too proud. I was so young 
 and undisciplined, and it's her heart that governs 
 such a girl as I was. Why didn't you know — 
 then you would have held me? Why did you 
 trust me so? 
 
92 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Hamil. Is a man not to trust the woman who 
 is his wife? 
 
 Madame B. Not a girl of my temperament. 
 You took an exotic and sent it to a place where 
 all the sights and sounds nourished it. And you 
 were so calm — oh! that calmness drove me mad — 
 so certain you were safe. It didn't occur to you 
 to assure yourself that you were, or to make me 
 swear every day that I was the same. When one 
 is young as I was, nothing in the world matters 
 but love — I thought that nothing else should exist 
 — I thought that if I made you jealous it would 
 rouse you — that was how it all began. Archie 
 Farence was reckless, and loved me, I wanted you 
 to see that he did — but you were blind and saw 
 nothing. He told me that you didn't care — that 
 you couldn't — couldn't 
 
 Hamil. This is amazing — this state of mind — 
 it never entered my head — I thought you knew 
 that I was devoted to you — I worked chiefly to 
 givie you the things that would make you happy 
 — and I trusted you. 
 
 Madame B. Yes, you trusted me — ^too much — 
 nineteen — and half Southern. . . . Do you 
 remember the last time you came to Simla? You 
 were so preoccupied you forgot to bring the neck- 
 lace you had taken away to have mended, before 
 the dance at the Whartons' — it was another proof 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 93 
 
 of how little you thought of me while you were 
 absent. I don't know how it came about — I 
 swear I don't, Maurice. It seemed as if taunting 
 fiends gathered about me that night — and you 
 were so cold and preoccupied, you sat at your 
 table writing, sheet after sheet — I longed to tear 
 them into strips 
 
 Hamil. There had been two cases of cholera, 
 and I was anxious about you — didn't want you 
 to know how anxious 
 
 Madame B. [With a cry.'] Oh! If I had 
 guessed — how could I? But you said 
 
 Hamil. Well? 
 
 Madame B. You said you would come on to 
 the Whartons' and you didn't. Farence was there 
 adoring me. There was one moment in the gar- 
 den, after a dance, when he stooped and kissed 
 the ground I had stood on. [Turns away.] The 
 end of it was that I went off with him. It was 
 half done from longing to make you jealous, to 
 make you suffer. Oh! If I could make you feel 
 for a single minute the storm that raged in my 
 heart. The man who was with me was intoxi- 
 cated with passion, was jealous if he suspected 
 I was thinking of you. He told me he would 
 strangle me if I even looked at another man — that 
 seemed to me to be the real thing — but I only took 
 it from him because you had not given it me. 
 
94 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Hamil. And you mean that you did not even 
 leave me for a man you loved better? 
 
 Madame B. As God lives, no, Maurice, I left 
 you on an impulse, an hour's desperate reign of 
 one passion in a hurricane of many passions, 
 and before the day came when as a matter of 
 honour he married me, I was the most miserable 
 woman in the world. 
 
 Hamil. He loved you after your own fashion 
 at any rate. 
 
 Madame B. No, not even that. There came 
 an awful awakening, it made me shudder — it 
 made me loathe him — ^long before he left me. 
 
 Hamil. He left you! 
 
 Madame B. I drove him away — I shrank from 
 him — and oh, the peace of the day he went — 
 and I was thankful for the beggary that came 
 
 Hamil. Beggary? That too! 
 
 Madame B. Yes. And pain and misery of 
 every sort. But not vice, Maurice, I kept clear 
 of that. I have loved no man but you, and sinned 
 only with that other. As God in Heaven lives I 
 swear that to you. 
 
 Hamil. Why didn't you take the money I tried 
 to settle on you at the time of the divorce? 
 
 Madame B. That would have been the last 
 depth of all. 
 
 Hamil. Did Farence do nothing for you? 
 
 Madame M. [With a shudder.'] I sent it back 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 95 
 
 — I was only an incident — that was part of my 
 degradation. His friends forgave him — men are 
 often forgiven — women never 
 
 Hamil. It must be so. It may be cruel, but 
 it has to be. We put them so high — that when a 
 woman sins it is the betrayal of a Christ — and 
 even the man who is the Judas can't forgive her. 
 
 Madame B. I know — I know. 
 
 Hamil. Where were you when Farence died? 
 
 Madame B. In Australia. I never saw him 
 again. He died in England. 
 
 Hamil. And what did you do all those years? 
 
 Madame B. I nearly starved at first. I was 
 ill — broken [shuddering] and in the Melbourne 
 hospital for months. There was a horse-dealer's 
 wife in the bed next to mine — when I was better, 
 she made her husband hire me to ride the horses 
 he wanted to sell. It was the only thing I could 
 do and I liked it. The quick movement — ^the long 
 gallops into the bush — the mystery I was to them, 
 for they knew nothing. That was how the years 
 went by. At last I could bear it no longer — I 
 had saved some money, it brought me to Eng- 
 land. I crept to the inn at Worcester and asked 
 for you, as I told you. My mother had died — 
 refusing to forgive me — but she left me what she 
 had — little enough — I saw an advertisement of a 
 riding-school and bought it, and suddenly pros- 
 perity came. 
 
96 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 Hamil. [Gently.] I'm glad to have heard this 
 — and I am sorry for all you have suffered. 
 [Takes a step as if going forward to the bell,] 
 I wish we had both been different. 
 
 Madame B. [Despairingly, going between him 
 and the bell,] Once more — not yet. Oh! Mau- 
 rice, these minutes are the last we shall ever have 
 together. 
 
 Hamil. Why did you come to-day, and why 
 have you been trying to see me all these 
 months ? 
 
 Madame B. I couldn't bear it any longer — 
 I felt I must see you — ^just once more. I knew 
 all that you had thought me — I wanted to make 
 it plain — to show you how it had been, to — ^to 
 make you hate me less 
 
 Hamil. I don't hate you — you poor child. . . 
 The crooked deed always sows pain and misery. 
 You have reaped it and I have not escaped. Prob- 
 ably you thought as I did that peace had come, 
 till the day we met — in that room that looked over 
 the garden. 
 
 Madame B. I would have given worlds not to 
 have gone. I should have died if you had mar- 
 ried her, but I wouldn't have prevented it 
 
 Hamil. You died, if I had married her! 
 
 Madame B. Yes — died — died, I think. For all 
 these years, even in the first mad one in which I 
 left you, I've loved you — that has been my pun- 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 97 
 
 ishment, my harvest — ^to see your figure clear and 
 distinct in the distance before me, and to know 
 I should never reach it, to know that some day 
 you would give all that I had left — to another 
 woman. I knew it must come, and I have tor- 
 tured myself imagining her — fair and good, and 
 all that I was not — I have seen your face turned 
 towards her and heard your whispers without be- 
 ing able to catch the words, and I've killed her in 
 my thoughts — and put my face against yours and 
 my arms where hers had been, and love for me — 
 not for her — ^but for me — into your heart again. 
 A maddening dream of joy — I have clenched my 
 hands and locked my teeth to keep the cry of mis- 
 ery from my lips when it was over — [Change of 
 manner.'] I didn't mean to betray all this but 
 I am glad I have said it — it has come. You shall 
 never see me again — or hear — or know. [^Tahes 
 up a wrap which she had left on chair J\ 
 
 Hamil. [Who is carried away by her passion.] 
 Juliet! Is all that you have said the truth? 
 
 l^Goes towards her as she turns to go. 
 
 Madame B. I've never lied to you, Maurice; 
 even I have not done that. 
 
 Hamil. You mean that you have loved me 
 all these years? 
 
 Madame B. [In a low, tragic voice.] All these 
 years and every day of them. You cannot say 
 that you have loved me — as I would you if you 
 
98 HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 
 
 had left me. You went to the fair girl — and 
 loved her 
 
 Hamil. Yes — I loved her. 
 
 Madame B. I know — I saw her and felt it. 
 
 Hamil. She was the expression to me of all 
 that once I had imagined you would be when you 
 were a little older. 
 
 Madame B. No — no 
 
 Hamil. And from deep down in my heart, 
 buried in bitterness and misery, often your face — 
 as I saw it first — looked up at me. 
 
 Madame B. Oh — no — no. 
 
 Hamil. She^s going to marry another man. 
 
 Madame B. And you — are miserable. 
 
 Hamil. No, I'm not miserable — it is over — it 
 seems to have vanished — and all the other mem- 
 ories have come rushing back. Juliet! My poor 
 whirlwind — my little lover — I used to call you 
 that in the first month — I wish things had been 
 different — with all my heart I wish it. 
 
 Madame B. I would give my life — my every 
 hope of heaven to have them so — or if you had 
 left me, for then I would have forgiven you, and 
 loved you more — because of the days I didn't 
 dare remember. Ah! let me go 
 
 Hamil. No — ^no 
 
 Madame B. I can't bear it any longer. 
 
 Hamil. [Springing forward.] You shall never 
 go if I can help it. I am longing to take you back. 
 
HAMILTON'S SECOND MARRIAGE 99 
 
 Madame B. [Bewilder edJ] You forgive me? 
 
 Hamil. Forgive you? It's your forgiveness I 
 want, for my blindness, my seeming coldness — 
 give it me — give it me — shall we put it all be- 
 hind us, and start out across a new world? How 
 could you think I didn't love you enough — you 
 were so beautiful. Could you bear with me again? 
 Shall we have another marriage-day, and begin 
 life once more together? 
 
 Madame B. Oh! no, no — I could bear the 
 misery, the shame even — but such joy as that 
 would kill me 
 
 Hamil. You shall live for it in my arms. [Puts 
 them round her.] There is a harvest from suffer- 
 ing too — a harvest of peace. 
 
 Madame B. [Looking up at him dazed.] For 
 the dead — only for the dead 
 
 Hamil. For the living sometimes. Juliet — 
 JuHet! 
 
 Curtain. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Thomas Lobb, a boy (afterwards Robert Vallide) 
 
 Robert Vallide (formerly Thomas Lobb) 
 
 Robert Vallide, Senr., his uncle 
 
 Earl of Barnstaple, past middle age 
 
 Geoff, Lord Stratton (in the Guards), his son 
 
 Sir James Caxton 
 
 Colonel Endsleigh, Indian Staff Corps 
 
 Sir George Fison, a famous doctor 
 
 Lady Sarah Stratton, Lord Barnstaple's sister 
 Lady Ida, his daughter 
 Lady Caxton (Julia), his niece 
 The Hon. Mrs. Murison, another niece 
 May Murison, her daughter (a little girl of six 
 at first, not seen then) 
 Servants, &c. 
 
ACT J., ENGLAND. 
 TIME: Seventeen years ago. 
 
 SCENE: (Interior) A drawing-room in Harford 
 Terrace, Regent's Park. 
 
 ACT II., ITALY. 
 
 TIME: Present day. Afternoon. 
 
 SCENE: {Interior) Sitting-room in Lord Barn- 
 staple's Villa at Alassio on the Italian 
 Riviera. 
 
 ACT III., ITALY. 
 
 TIME: Ten days later. Late afternoon. 
 
 SCENE: (Exterior) Garden of the Villa. 
 
 ACT IV., ENGLAND. 
 TIME: Three weeks later. 
 
 SCENE: (Interior) A sitting-room on Campden 
 HilL TV, 
 
ACT I 
 
 Time. — Seventeen years ago, about noon, on a 
 spring day. 
 
 Scene. — Interior. Mrs. Murison's house in Har- 
 ford Terrace, Regent's Park. Drawing-room 
 rvell furnished, refined. Windorvs at hack 
 (not down to the ground) showing tops of 
 trees, so as to suggest that the room is on 
 the first floor. Fireplace on r.j door on L. 
 
 When Curtain draws up Lady Sarah is dis- 
 covered on chair r. near the fire. She is 
 middle-aged, handsome, and distinguished- 
 looking, rather mannered. 
 
 Near centre of stage, Mrs. Murison, about 
 twenty-six, a pretty, graceful woman, with 
 a sweet but rather stiff manner, is talk- 
 ing with Sir George Fison, a celebrated 
 doctor: they are both standing, 
 
 Mrs. M. I can never thank you enough. Sir 
 George. 
 
 Sir G. My dear lady, I am delighted to think 
 the results have not disappointed us — I know 
 what the child is to you 
 
 Mrs. M. Just my life 
 
 105 
 
106 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lady S. [Sharply.] More than either of the 
 other two children; and then, you know, Doctor 
 — I keep forgetting, I mean Sir George — I did 
 congratulate you? 
 
 Sir G. You did, thank you very much 
 
 Lady S. And then it's her first child. 
 
 Sir G. I know. And the father away, fight- 
 ing for his country. [To Mrs. M.] I hope you've 
 good news? 
 
 Mrs. M. None at all for the last few days; 
 but he was safe then. 
 
 Sir G. Letters, of course, are difficult — 
 though the War Office does all it can. 
 
 Mrs. M. We owed so much to Gordon. And 
 he wants to help to carry out his work in Egypt. 
 
 Sir G. Well, we are doing great things there 
 You must hope for the best. 
 Keep the child out of doors as much as possible. 
 
 Mrs. M. I told nurse to wrap her up well. 
 
 Sir G. Quite right. You are fortunate in 
 having this park at your front door. 
 
 Mrs. M. I stand at the window and watch 
 them half a mile away sometimes. 
 
 Sir G. Ah! [Smiling.] It's lucky for chil- 
 dren that they have mothers. 
 
 [While they are speaking Thomas enters 
 with a scuttleful of coals, which he puts 
 down hy the fireplace. He is about ten, 
 dressed in tidy but poor clothes, wears 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 107 
 
 a working apron, and has a refined, deli- 
 cate little face. Sir George looks at 
 Mm as he passes. Thomas touches his 
 forelock. Exit. 
 
 Sir G. [About to go.] Nice face that boy has. 
 Does not look very strong though. [Shakes 
 hands.'] Glad to have seen yon again, Lady 
 Sarah. I hope Lady Barnstaple is better? 
 
 Lady S. I've not seen her lately; I've been 
 staying at Hampton Court with my sister. 
 
 Sir G. Oh, yes — Lady Caroline Lismore. 
 [To Mrs. M.] Your mother. I remember that 
 she went there after her husband died. I hope 
 she is not quite ^lone.'* 
 
 Lady S. Oh, no; she has a niece, poor Claude's 
 child — Julia — who is eighteen now. Perhaps you 
 don't remember her? 
 
 Sir G. Dear me, yes, I do. Her parents died 
 in India. . . . Well, good-bye. [Turns 
 hack.] By the way, you didn't tell me how Lady 
 Barnstaple was? 
 
 Lady S. Not at all well. My brother has 
 bought a villa at Alassio, on the Italian Riviera, 
 for her. 
 
 Sir G. Humph! I'm sorry . . . The 
 children are well, I hope — GeoiFrey and Ida, 
 isn't it? . . . Lord Barnstaple is making a 
 great name in the political world. [To Mrs. M.] 
 Send for me if anything goes wrong. 
 
108 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Mrs. M. I will — and thank you — ^thank you 
 for all your kindness. 
 
 Sir G. Not at all. 
 
 [Exit Sir George. Mrs. M. rings the bell. 
 
 Lady S. Well, Evelyn, that anxiety is over. 
 
 Mrs. M. I hope so. [Rings again.Ji Thomas 
 must be told not to come in when there are visi- 
 tors here. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 [To Servant.] Send Thomas to me — as soon as 
 he has filled the scuttles. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Mrs. M. [To Lady S.] He is the son of those 
 poor people who had charge of the empty house 
 next door; do you remember? 
 
 Lady S. Oh, yes, you made Turner cut off a 
 great many slices of roast mutton for them when 
 I was here six months ago, and had them sent, 
 too before you ate your own. 
 
 Mrs. M. Poor things, they were hungry — and 
 needed a great many. Father and mother, and 
 Thomas and Polly, and the poor skinny baby 
 that died. 
 
 Lady S. A good thing it did, my dear, if it 
 was skinny — it wouldn't always have had you to 
 send it roast mutton. [Evidently anxious to dis- 
 miss the subject.] They were country people, 
 you said 
 
 Mrs. M. The father was a Cornish man. He 
 had been a carpenter, I think. I saw him one 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 109 
 
 night warming his thin hands by the fire, and the 
 next day when I went to see him he was dead — • 
 I put the flowers I had taken at his feet. 
 
 Lady S. [Indifferently.] Poor man! Better 
 off, no doubt. And has the widow found another 
 empty house to take care of? 
 
 Mrs. M. No, she does a little charing, and 
 we bought her a mangle; Polly goes to a board 
 school, and Thomas carries out newspapers for 
 the stationer round the corner, but as that's over 
 at eight in the morning, and I wanted a boy to 
 clean knives and boots, and carry up coals 
 
 Lady S. You sent for Thomas. 
 
 Mrs. M. He is such a good boy and he adores 
 May 
 
 Lady S. ^Impatiently.] Of course he does 
 
 but I want to speak to you about your 
 
 mother. I have hurried up to town because I 
 
 have no patience with her — I never had much 
 
 without her perhaps you will say. 
 
 Mrs. M. Dear Aunt Sarah, I wouldn't be so 
 rude; besides I love your impatience. 
 
 Enter Thomas. He touches his forelock and 
 stands by the door. 
 
 Lady S. [Evidently angry at the interrup- 
 tion.] Oh 
 
 Mrs. M. Come in, Thomas. . . . What is 
 that bulging in your pocket — why it moves! 
 
 Thomas. [Pleased and important.] It's some 
 
no THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 white mice, M'm, for Miss May. Her brown one 
 died just before she was took ill. ... I 
 got these a week ago and thought perhaps you'd 
 let me give *em to her to-day. 
 
 Mrs. M. Are they loose in your pocket? 
 
 Thomas. Tied up in a handkerchief. But 
 I've mended the catch of the cage. I am glad to 
 hear she's to go out, M'm. 
 
 Mrs. M. How did you know? 
 
 Thomas. I went up and asked nurse, directly 
 after the doctor'd gone down. I thought he'd 
 gone, M'm, or I wouldn't have come in with the 
 coals just now. 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, that was it — I wondered. Why 
 didn't you give Miss May the mice when you 
 went up? 
 
 Thomas. Didn't like to do that, M'm, till I'd 
 asked you if you didn't mind 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh — how nice of you. 
 
 Thomas. Thank you, M'm. It's a good thing 
 l^with a different sound in his voice^ she's well; 
 isn't it, M'm? [Mrs. Murison nods.] We were 
 scared that night, all of us. 
 
 Mrs. M. We were indeed, Thomas. 
 Well, go up and give her the mice. 
 
 Thomas. [With a little triumphant smile.] 
 They're as white as milk. 
 
 [Touches his forelock to Lady S. and Mrs. M. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 111 
 
 Lady S. Nice boy; knows his place, and a 
 little more human than most children of that 
 class. 
 
 Mrs. M. Human.'* Oh, Thomas is human enough. 
 I shall never forget the night we thought May 
 was going to die. I believe he sat on the steps 
 all through it. The servants found him outside 
 the area door at daylight half dead. They 
 dragged him in, and when they told him that the 
 crisis was over and she might live, he put his 
 head down on the kitchen table and sobbed — the 
 relief was too much. I shall always remember 
 him when I think of that night. . . . 
 [Change of manner. 1 Well, what has been hap- 
 pening at Hampton Court? You've been staying 
 with mother, I hear. 
 
 Lady S. My dear Evelyn, your mother is 
 driving me out of my mind. She is my sister, 
 so I have a right to say what I think of her, 
 even to you. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Amused.] Yes, of course you have. 
 Aunt Sarah — go on. 
 
 Lady S. She is a most worldly woman. 
 
 Mrs. M. But why suddenly.^ 
 
 Lady S. Young Endsleigh has gone to India, 
 as you probably know, without speaking to 
 Julia 
 
 Mrs. M. I am certain they care for each 
 other. 
 
112 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lady S. Then he's an idiot not to have told 
 her so. And Julia — a girl in love is always like 
 an ostrich with his head in the sand — has been 
 breaking her heart and thinks nobody knows it. 
 
 Mrs. M. Mother couldn't help his not speak- 
 ing. 
 
 Lady S. I believe she prevented him — any 
 one could see that he was fond of Julia — at any 
 rate he has gone^ as she intended him to go, 
 without declaring himself. And last night the 
 poor child accepted Sir James Caxton, that stupid 
 man who has just got in for Fieldborough. 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, no. Aunt Sarah — not Sir 
 James .^ He's the dullest man in the world. 
 
 Lady S. He's an owl, but he's very rich and 
 has no near relations. 
 
 Mrs. M. He must be forty. 
 
 Lady S. I daresay. And depend upon it he'll 
 live to be eighty. 
 
 Mrs. M. How did it happen? 
 
 Lady S. Well, it has been quite evident that 
 something was in the man's mind, for he went 
 down five times in a fortnight, mooned about, 
 and said nothing, stared at Julia, and went away 
 as inarticulate as he came. It's a miracle to me 
 how such an idea as marriage got into his head. 
 
 Mrs. M. I can't think why he was returned 
 for Fieldborough. 
 
 Lady S. Bribery, of course. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 113 
 
 Mrs. M. Julia might marry any one, and at 
 eighteen there's no hurry. 
 
 Lady S. Sir James is very rich and that ap- 
 peals to your mother. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Thoughtfully.'] And it's an excel- 
 lent family of course. . . . Do you think 
 he's in love} 
 
 Lady S. My dear_, an owl doesn't fall in love. 
 He wants to arrange himself in life, and is doing 
 the best he can — from an owl's point of view. 
 She'll run away in a year if Frank Endsleigh 
 comes back, and then there'll be a pretty scandal. 
 
 Mrs. M. But why did she accept him? 
 
 Lady S. Your mother has been telling her that 
 if anything happened to her, she would have to 
 go out as a governess, or some nonsense, for of 
 course, the dear Queen only gave those rooms 
 at Hampton Court to your father's widow. 
 
 Mrs. M. I know. 
 
 Lady S. So she persuaded Julia that it was 
 her duty to accept Sir James, and Julia is so 
 miserable that she would marry anybody, or 
 throw herself down a well, or do anything else 
 she was told. I was extremely angry and came 
 away the first thing this morning. At the station 
 I telegraphed to Sir James to come and see me 
 here at twelve o'clock. 
 
 Mrs. M. Here? Aunt Sarah! What are you 
 going to do? 
 
114 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lady S. I shall not mince matters: but it's 
 twelve o'clock now; so perhaps he won't come — 
 he is probably afraid, for my manner was not 
 pleasant last night — I made it unpleasant. 
 
 Mrs. M. That clock is five minutes fast. I 
 can't think why mother hasn't written to me. 
 
 Lady S. She's coming up this afternoon, with 
 Julia — coming here, to surprise you; that's why 
 I did a really desperate thing, and wired to the 
 man. 
 
 Mrs. M. I am so amazed at your courage. 
 
 Lady S. I'm amazed, my dear Evelyn, that 
 you don't appear to be shocked at your mother's 
 conduct. 
 
 Mrs. M. Poor mother, the money has dazzled 
 her. 
 
 Lady S. And she has forgotten her own youth 
 — it's extraordinary to me that women do. I'm 
 fifty, but I know what it feels like to be in love 
 as well as if I were twenty. 
 
 Mrs. M. Many girls marry for money and 
 are content. Think of Mary Wallingford, and 
 that vulgar millionaire last year, do you remem- 
 ber .?» 
 
 Lady S. Of course I do — Mr. Ruddock — ^the 
 ready-made clothing man — but he was clever at 
 any rate. Sir James is so dull. 
 
 Mrs. M. [With a shudder.] Yes; but it was 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 115 
 
 worse than this — When May grows up if she 
 were to marry a man like Mr. Ruddock 
 
 Enter Thomas with a telegram on a tray; he 
 stands unnoticed for a minute and listens 
 with wide open eyes at the mention of May's 
 name. 
 
 Lady S. Or like Sir James? 
 
 Mrs. M. I would rather see her married to 
 a dull man like Sir James, than to some new- 
 made millionaire who had been a tinker or a 
 tailor, perhaps; and who, at the back of one's 
 head, one knew ought to be sitting with the 
 servants. 
 
 Thomas [Touching his forelock. '\ Telegram, 
 M'm. 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, I didn't see you, Thomas, you 
 should speak. Wait — perhaps there's an answer. 
 [Takes up two telegrams from the tray.l^ One 
 for you. Aunt Sarah. [Hands it to Lady S.] 
 [To Thomas.] Why didn't Turner bring them 
 in? 
 
 Thomas. I told her I would, M'm, 'cause 
 mother's here and wants to know if you can see 
 her for a minute. 
 
 Lady S. [Reading her telegram.'} " With you 
 at 12.15." He's coming! 
 
 Mrs. M. [Reading her telegram.} Mother has 
 telegraphed that she and Julia will be here at 
 
116 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 four. [To Thomas.] No answer. ... I 
 can't see your mother this morning. 
 
 [Thomas touches his forelock and is about 
 to go when she says 
 Wait a minute. Ask her to go into the dining- 
 room and wait. 
 
 [Thomas touches his forelock. Exit. 
 
 Lady S. [With a grunt.l H'm; the man's com- 
 ing. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Amused.] You shall have that in- 
 terview alone. 
 
 Lady S. Yes, I had better see him alone. I 
 shall speak with the greatest plainness — but come 
 back after a few minutes. 
 
 Mrs. M. What do you think Julia really feels 
 about it.'' 
 
 Lady S. [After a pause.] I don't want to be- 
 tray the child's confidence, but she is crushed and 
 miserable and doesn't care what becomes of her. 
 I went to her room last night; she threw herself 
 into my arms. She is broken-hearted about the 
 Endsleigh boy. The young idiot is too poor to 
 marry yet. 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, of course. 
 
 Lady S. But he's not too poor to be en- 
 gaged, and they are both so young they could 
 wait. 
 
 Enter Servant; announcing 
 
 Servant. Sir James Caxton. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 117 
 
 Enter Sir James, almost middle-aged, a 
 dull, heavy-looking man. 
 
 Mrs. M. How do you do. Sir James? 
 
 Sir J. How do you do? How do again, Lady 
 Sarah? [Nodding to her.l [To Mrs. Murison.] 
 Heard the news, I suppose? 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes — I was very much surprised 
 
 Sir J. Thought you would be . . . How's 
 the child? Been ill, hasn't she? 
 
 Mrs. M. She is better, thank you. 
 
 Sir J. That's right — I suppose you know that 
 your mother and Julia — ^you cousin, isn't she, 
 yes, of course — are coming up this afternoon? 
 
 Mrs. M. I have just heard from them. 
 
 Sir J. That's all right then — Lady Sarah, you 
 were good enough to telegraph for me, so I'm 
 here. 
 
 Lady S. I want to talk to you. 
 
 Mrs. M. And there is some one waiting to see 
 me in the drawing-room. 
 
 Sir J. You haven't congratulated me yet — I 
 suppose you forgot — it doesn't matter; it's only 
 a form. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Going towards the door.^ Yes, it's 
 only a form. 
 
 Sir J. Allow me. [Opens door.] 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Murison. 
 
 Sir J. [Going awkwardly towards Lady 
 Sarah.] Well what's the telegram about? 
 
118 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lady S. Sit down, Sir James, I want to speak 
 to you. I mean to speak plainly. 
 
 Sir J. Quite right. We are both plain people. 
 
 Lady S. I took my courage into my two hands, 
 and telegraphed. 
 
 Sir J. I thought you probably took a pencil. 
 
 Lady S. What do you mean? 
 
 Sir J. [Sheepishly.] Only a little joke. Cour- 
 age is an excellent thing, but no good by itself 
 for writing a telegram. [She makes an impatient 
 gesture.] Well, what is it? 
 
 Lady S. Why did you propose to my niece, 
 Julia? 
 
 Sir J. Because I want to marry her — excellent 
 reason 
 
 Lady S. She's not in love with you — not a 
 bit — you must know that. 
 
 Sir J. Sorry for it. I don't believe in young 
 women being in love before they're married — • 
 time enough afterwards. 
 
 Lady S. My sister made her accept you be- 
 cause you have twenty thousand a year. I 
 speak plainly, for there is no one else to do it. 
 You are a good and worthy man, but you were 
 not made to marry a beautiful girl like Julia. 
 
 Sir J. Perhaps not, but I don't see that any- 
 thing is gained by saying it now. 
 
 Lady S. Sir James, thai; girl is breaking 
 her heart for a boy who went to India the other 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 119 
 
 day, without speaking, because my sister, who 
 is a very worldly woman, prevented him. 
 
 Sir J. I'm sorry; I'll take her about and 
 she'll forget him. 
 
 Lady S. Don't marry her — the engagement 
 is not announced yet, no one knows about it 
 except ourselves — back out of it — be generous; 
 be kind. Julia dared not refuse you, she is 
 miserable at the thought of marrying you. 
 
 Sir J. Well, but she needn't be — I'll do what 
 I can 
 
 Lady S. Don't marry her. Give her up. 
 Don't make a tragedy of that young thing's life. 
 
 Sir J. I won't if I can help it, but I mean 
 to marry her. The boy who went to India was 
 a fool; — didn't know how to use his chance; 
 she'll forget him soon; [gets up to go] I will 
 do my best to please her. 
 
 Lady S. I thought you would be generous — 
 I thought you would see the whole thing. 
 
 Sir J. I'm going to be generous. I won't 
 tell any one of this conversation. 
 
 Lady S. But why do you want to marry her 
 after what I have told you? 
 
 Sir J. I'm very dull. 
 
 Lady S. [Almost losing her temper.] You 
 are dreadfully dull. 
 
 Sir J. That's why I want to marry. I 
 shan't say you told me about the boy. 
 
120 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 But I shall keep my eyes open — and I can take 
 care of my own. 
 
 Lady S. [Indignant, with a note of feeling 
 in her voice.] I am a foolish old woman, I've 
 done more harm than good. I thought perhaps 
 you would understand. 
 
 Sir J. I quite understand, but you see the 
 woman who doesn't get the man she wants is 
 unlucky and can't help it — has to put up with 
 it; but the man who doesn't get the woman he 
 wants is an ass. I always think you should take 
 what you want if you can get it — I want her. 
 
 Lady S. I feel as if I'd made a fool of my- 
 self — and done no good. 
 
 Sir J. I like a woman who makes a fool of 
 herself. She's generally a nice woman, there's 
 where you get the pull of us. I rather like 
 fools, though they bore me if they're men. 
 Good-bye. 
 
 Lady S. [^Looking at him rvonderingly.'] I 
 believe you'll be kind 
 
 Sir J. I*m not up to much, but I'll try. 
 Enter Mrs. Murison. 
 
 Mrs. M. Are you going. Sir James? 
 
 Sir J. Just going. Hope to come this after- 
 noon, if you will allow me — meet Lady Caroline 
 and Julia. 
 
 Mrs. M. You are coming to meet them? 
 
 \Rmgs. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 121 
 
 Sir J. Yes, au revoir. [Exit Sir James. 
 
 Mrs. M. What happened, Aunt Sarah? 
 
 Lady S. [Snappishly.'] Nothing. The man's 
 stupid. [Evidently quite reluctant to acknowl- 
 edge her defeat.] I wish I hadn't sent for 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. M. What did he say? 
 
 Lady S. I can't tell you now, I am too angry. 
 Did you see Thomas's mother? 
 
 Mrs. M. Mrs. Lobb — Oh, yes — Thomas is go- 
 ing to Canada 
 
 Lady S. [Evidently not in the least inter- 
 ested.] Good thing for him, perhaps. 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, I suppose it is. Mrs. Lobh 
 comes from Cornwall, and when she was a girl 
 her brother went to Canada; but he has always 
 been poor till lately because he was so set on 
 education, she says. 
 
 Lady S. Wasted his time, of course, on learn- 
 ing things of no use to him instead of doing his 
 work — served him right. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Amused.] He is beginning to do 
 better and has sent for Thomas. The Captain 
 of the trading ship who promised to take him 
 back only found Mrs. Lobb this morning — and 
 his ship sails to-morrow. Thomas goes with him 
 at four o'clock from Euston to-day. 
 
 Lady S. What does the uncle do besides be- 
 ing set on education? 
 
122 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh — something with railways. Poor 
 woman, she was miserable at losing her boy. 
 . . . But I want to talk about Julia and Sir 
 James. 
 
 Lady S. I would rather not own it, but that 
 man thoroughly worsted me, and 
 
 Mrs. M. [Evidently listening for some move- 
 ment outside the house.'] Wait till the children 
 have gone — they are just ready — we shall hear 
 them go by. [Goes to the window and opens 
 it.] The air is lovely, so soft — and the sunshine 
 will do May a deal of good. 
 
 Thomas enters while she is speaking. He 
 has taken off his apron, evidently 
 washed his face and brushed his hair. 
 Stands, cap in hand. 
 
 Thomas. [Touching his forelock.] Please 
 M'm, I've come to say good-bye. 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, I know — come in. [He is stand- 
 ing by the door. Your mother has told me all 
 about it. 
 
 Thomas. [Going a few steps into the room.] 
 She's very keen on my going, M'm, but I don't like 
 leaving her and Polly. . . don't know how 
 they'll manage. 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, but it's a splendid chance for 
 you. 
 
 Thomas. That's what she says, but it's come so 
 sudden-like. I believe chances always does, and 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 123 
 
 I don't suppose I should come to much carrying 
 out the papers 
 
 Mrs. M. [With an encouraging smile.] Or 
 blacking our shoes. 
 
 Thomas. I like doing anything for you, M'm. 
 [Turns his head towards the window, and his face 
 lights wp.] I thought I heard them. Miss May 
 and the others are just going. 
 
 [Sounds outside, as of wheels. 
 
 May. [Only her voice — a child^s voice — is 
 heard, she is not seen.] Mother, dear — Mother, 
 dear. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Going towards the window.] You 
 must say good-bye to her. 
 
 Thomas. I did, M'm. I thought you wouldn't 
 mind. 
 
 Lady S. [Who has followed Mrs. Murison to 
 the window.] She looks much better. 
 
 Mrs. M. [To the children, who are presumably 
 beneath the window.] Good-bye, dears. Don't 
 let her get too tired. Nurse. I'm saying good-bye 
 to Thomas, May darling. 
 
 May. [Her voice is heard.] Tell him to come 
 back again. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Turning to Thomas.] She says you 
 are to come back again, Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. [Going towards window, hut stand- 
 ing shyly a step away from it.] I'll come back, 
 Miss May, I'll be sure to come back. 
 
124 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 May. When will you come? 
 
 Mrs. M. \_Repeating.'] When will you come? 
 she says. 
 
 Thomas. [To May.] I don't know, but 
 I'll be sure to come, Miss May; don't you 
 fear. 
 
 Mrs. M. Good-bye, darlings. 
 
 [The children evidently go on, Mrs. M. 
 kisses her hand to them, closes the win- 
 dow, and comes back into the room. 
 
 Mrs. M. [To Thomas.] Have you seen your 
 uncle's friend who is to take you to Canada? 
 
 Thomas. No, M'm, but mother has. She says 
 he is a very nice gentleman. 
 
 Mrs. M. The voyage will do you good. 
 
 Thomas. That's what he said. Mother told 
 him I was delicate, and he said the sea might set 
 me up and start me growing. But I don't like 
 leaving her and Polly [struggling to keep back 
 emotion] and I don't like leaving you and Miss 
 May ... I couldn't *a' gone if she hadn't been 
 better. 
 
 Mrs. M. Thank God, she's well. 
 
 Thomas. [Going, then hesitating and speaking 
 shyly.] Please, M'm, I want to thank you for all 
 your kindness to us ... I don't know where 
 we'd 'a' been without you. Father said you were 
 our best friend — it's one of the last things he did 
 say. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 125 
 
 Mrs. M. Thank you for telling me — I know 
 you'll be a good boy, Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. I'll try. Good-bye, M'm. 
 
 Mrs. M. [As Thomas goes towards the door.l 
 Oh, but you must shake hands with me. [Quickly 
 taking something from her purse.] There is a 
 sovereign for your little pocket. 
 
 Thomas. [Half reluctant.] Thank you, M'm, 
 but I didn't want that to remember you by. 
 [Raises his head as he takes her hand and looks 
 at her.] I'll never forget you as long as I live. 
 
 Mrs. M. I don't believe you will. Good-bye, 
 dear Thomas, may you grow up strong and well, 
 and be a brave man. [Stoops and kisses his cheek. 
 [Thomases head droops, as if to hide his 
 tears, he touches his forelock, quite ig- 
 nores Lady S. Exit rvithout saying a 
 word, closing the door softly. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Looking after him.] Ah 
 
 Lady S. My dear Evelyn, how could you kiss 
 the charwoman's son — the boy who blacks your 
 shoes ? 
 
 Mrs. M. He looked so little to be going across 
 the world alone, I couldn't bear to see his pale 
 face and sad eyes. And I thought of how he 
 had sobbed the morning he heard that May was 
 better — and of his father as I saw him last, lying 
 
 still, with the surprised smile on his face 
 
 Curtain, 
 
ACT II 
 
 Time. — Present. Seventeen years later than last 
 Act. An afternoon in April. 
 
 Scene. — Sitting-room in Lord Barnstaple^s villa 
 at Alassio, charmingly furnished. Wide doors 
 at back leading on to loggia, with marble or 
 stone balustrade, and steps in centre leading 
 down to orange-garden. The orange-trees 
 should be seen, bearing fruit and blossom. 
 At the back mountains and olive-trees; on 
 one side a bit of the blue Mediterranean. 
 
 Seated on the right is Julia {now Lady Caxton), 
 about SQ, beautiful, pleasant, but distant in 
 manner to any but her own people. She is 
 reading some letters; the post has evidently 
 just come in. 
 
 At the grand piano on the left May Murison 
 is playing very softly. She is 23, girlish, 
 fair, charming. 
 
 By the window Sir James Caxton is standing 
 looking a good deal older than in the last 
 Act. 
 
 Far down stage Robert Vallide, Sen., stands 
 1«7 
 
128 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 listening to the piano. He is a tall, shrewd, 
 eager man of 55, keen, businesslike, and 
 kindly, 
 
 Vallide. [To Julia.] Do you know, Lady 
 Caxton, I believe I have heard that tune before? 
 Lady C. [Amused.] May! Mr. Vallide says 
 he knows that tune. 
 
 May. It is a very old one — it's Sullivan's 
 ** Distant Shore.** 
 
 Vallide. I'd like it again. They used to play 
 it at Montreal in old days. It always made me 
 feel home-sick. 
 
 Sir J. [To Vallide.] Isn't it time you went 
 to meet your nephew, 
 
 Vallide. [Looking at match.'] You are 
 right. Sir James, it is. If that train's punctual 
 he'll be here in a quarter of an hour. Thank 
 you. Miss Murison. 
 
 [Gets up and goes towards door. 
 
 Julia. Go through the garden — it's nearer. 
 
 Vallide. I will. [Eaiit by garden. Looks 
 
 back and says:] Here's Lord Stratton coming. 
 
 [May begins to play. 
 Voice. May! Are you there? 
 
 [She evidently hears but goes on playing. 
 Lord Stratton, 25, a heavy, stupid- 
 looking young man, is seen coming up 
 the loggia. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 129 
 
 Sir J. [To May.] Geoff's calling you. 
 
 Geoff. May! [Entering the room.'] I say, 
 do come out 
 
 May. [Stands up and nods her head at him.] 
 I don't want to come out. 
 
 Geoff. Yes, you do. I want to talk to you. 
 
 May. [Sits down and begins to play again,] 
 I don't want to be talked to. 
 
 Geoff. Oh, all right. 
 
 [Marches off into the garden. Evidently cross. 
 
 Julia. I must say you are a very cool young 
 lady. 
 
 May. Dear Julia, why am I cool? 
 
 Julia. Are you not engaged to Geoff.'' 
 
 May. No, not yet, though in a sort of way I 
 have given in this morning — at least I said I'd 
 try and marry him. Mother wants it so much, 
 and he's Uncle Edward's son. 
 
 Julia. It doesn't seem to strike you that 
 Geoff is the only son of Lord Barnstaple, and one 
 of the best partis in London. 
 
 May. Poor old Geoff! 
 
 Julia. Most girls would jump at him. 
 
 May. Poor old Geoff! 
 
 Re-enter Geoff. 
 
 Geoff. [To Julia.] I say, Julia, make her 
 come for a walk. 
 
 May. I don't want to go for a walk — I want 
 to see Mr. Robert Vallide. He'll be here di- 
 
ISO THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 rectly; his uncle has gone to the station to meet 
 him — he's frightfully pleased at the idea of his 
 nephew getting into Parliament, and I want to 
 see what he is like. 
 
 Geoff. The blessed carpet-bagger. 
 
 May. He isn't a carpet-bagger. 
 
 Geoff. Well, tub-thumper. Do come out. 
 
 May. I want to stay here. 
 
 Geoff. You're awfully disagreeable this time. 
 . . . The Pippins want me to go and stay 
 with them in Paris. 
 
 May. [Picking up a letter from the piano,"] 
 Well — you like Miss Pippin. [To Julia.] I've 
 had a long letter from mother. She's so pleased 
 with our new house on Campden Hill — she is 
 getting it ready, working like a Trojan — how did 
 Trojans work hard, Geoff? 
 
 Geoff. Why — like Trojans. [Looking round."] 
 I'm getting sick of this place, too much scenery 
 about — ^there's no room for anything lively. 
 
 May. You'd better go to Paris. 
 
 Geoff. I will if you worry me so. 
 
 Enter Ida, 24, pretty and lively. 
 
 May. Here's Ida. Is Aunt Sarah better? 
 
 [Gets up and goes towards Ida. 
 
 Ida. a little — but she's very cross. 
 
 Julia. What have you been reading to her? 
 
 Ida. Jane Austen. She says all her people 
 are tiresome, and all their aims trivial. And, she 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 131 
 
 doesn't care how well they are done, she wouldn't 
 have known them for the world, and doesn't 
 want to hear about them. 
 
 Julia. Is she coming down to tea.'' 
 
 Ida. I don't know. I told her Mr. Vallide's 
 nephew was coming. She asked what he was 
 like. 
 
 May. What did you say? 
 
 Ida. I told her that he had the New World 
 vigour and the Old World politeness. 
 
 May. Why, Ida, you are quite eloquent. 
 
 Ida. [With mock pathos.] It doesn't mat- 
 ter, he likes some one else, as usual. He told 
 me all about her one evening. 
 
 May. About whom? 
 
 Ida. [May turns her head and listens.] Some 
 girl he remembers. He hasn't seen her for years, 
 but he always wonders everywhere he goes if 
 she will be there. 
 
 May. How sweet of him. [To Geoff as 
 they saunter towards the loggia together.] Very 
 well, I'll come for a little while. 
 
 [Ida goes to the piano, makes business. 
 [Sir James watches Geoff and May dis- 
 appear. 
 [Julia takes up a letter in her lap and 
 says to Ida. 
 
 Julia. Evelyn only just missed getting the 
 old house in Regent's Park again. 
 
132 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Ida. Really! I didn't know May had this 
 waltz. [Looking at music. 
 
 Sir J. What, the house where Lady Sarah 
 abused me for proposing to you.f* 
 
 Julia. It didn't make any difference. 
 
 Sir J. No, it didn't make any difference — in 
 one way — good thing Evelyn's not going back to 
 it. 
 
 Julia. Why? [Ida might play softly. 
 
 Sir J. It was there that she heard that her 
 husband was killed in Egypt. 
 
 Julia. [Nods.] Seventeen years ago. How 
 strange of you to think of that. 
 
 Sir J. I think of a good many things. [Rest- 
 lessly.] I wish this young man would arrive 
 
 Ida. [At piano.] Anxious to see your suc- 
 cessor, cousin Jim.'* 
 
 Sir J. Want to get out of politics — ^but I 
 want to get out of everything. 
 
 Julia. Oh, Jim, we all do sometimes. Life 
 could be such a wonderful thing — only it isn't. 
 
 Sir J. [Sheepishly.] Well, I bought you that 
 ivory carving to-day, it's coming home when it's 
 cleaned up 
 
 Enter Lord Barnstaple. He is past middle 
 age. Thorough Tory, a little stiff but 
 kind, as all his people are; agreeable and 
 pleasantly condescending in manner] 
 
 Sir J. Well, Barnstaple? 
 
 C 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 1S3 
 
 Julia. [To Sir J.] Oh! . . . [To Lord 
 B.] Jim has bought that ivory for me^ Uncle 
 Edward. 
 
 Lord B. Awfully good of him, my dear. He 
 is always finding pretty things for you. Where 
 is Vallide.? 
 
 Julia. Gone to meet his nephew. 
 
 Lord B. Ah! [Rings. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 [To Servant.] See that a room is ready for 
 Mr. Robert Vallide — Mr. Vallide's nephew. He 
 will arrive almost directly. 
 
 Servant. Yes, my lord. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Julia. [To Lorj) B.] Uncle Edward, did 
 you know that Mr. Vallide wasn't a Canadian.'* 
 
 Lord B. Of course. He's a West of England 
 man. Went out young to make his way, I im- 
 agine. 
 
 Sir J. That's why he's so keen on educa- 
 tion. 
 
 Lord B. He did a great deal for it in Can- 
 ada. 
 
 Sir J. Felt that he didn't get enough of it 
 himself, probably. 
 
 Lord B. He knows a good deal. I am never 
 very keen on the people who have made what 
 they call their pile and hail from — anywhere. 
 But I like Vallide. When I was doing the Col- 
 onies — he was at Ottawa then — he took me all 
 
134 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 over the Canadian Pacific, so I saw a good deal 
 of him. I hadn't seen him since till I met him 
 at Monte Carlo the other day — doing Europe — 
 and it was my turn to show civilities. 
 
 Ida. You knew his nephew first in Canada, 
 didn't you, father? 
 
 Lord B. He came out after taking his de- 
 gree. 
 
 Julia. And then.f* — the nephew, I mean.'' 
 
 Lord B. Then — he turned up in London 
 anxious to go into politics or something of that 
 sort. Our Party had just got in, I wanted a 
 Private Secretary, and he was good enough to 
 come to me. But we were turned out after a 
 few months. 
 
 Julia. You were all such rabid Tories, what 
 could you expect? 
 
 Lord B. I wish there were more of us; this 
 country wasn't built for a democracy — or by one. 
 And Socialism, if it comes, will pull it down and 
 only leave chaos in its place. Young Vallide is 
 a remarkable man and I shall be glad if he gets 
 in for Fieldborough. 
 
 Sir J. Perhaps he'U wake them up. I never 
 did. 
 
 Lord B. They're waking up of their own 
 accord — ^that's the worst of it. 
 
 [Lord B. crosses over to Sir J. 
 
 Ida. [Looking up from the piano.] Geoff's 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 135 
 
 American friends the Pippins are in Paris, 
 father. Colonel Endsleigh is going out to them 
 for a few days and may come on here. 
 
 Lord B. Ah! A good fellow, Endsleigh. 
 
 Lady C. [Looks up quickly at the mention of 
 Endsleigh's name. To Ida.] He's coming to 
 Alassio } 
 
 Sir J. [Sulkily, watching his wife.'] Why 
 should he come here? 
 
 Julia. Why shouldn't he? I knew him when 
 I was a girl — before he went to India 
 
 Sir J. Well, you don't now. 
 
 Ida. He's a great friend of mine, cousin 
 James. 
 
 Sir J. Friend of yours — is he? Oh — if that's 
 it ! [Pause, 
 
 Lord B. Look here, Caxton, when young Val- 
 
 lide comes we had better get to business at once. 
 
 [Goes to Sir J. on loggia. 
 
 Re-enter Geoff and May together from gar- 
 den, they pass Sir J. and Lord B., who 
 look after them curiously. 
 
 Geoff. [To Julia.] We are not getting on 
 a bit. 
 
 May. Not a bit. 
 
 Geoff. May used to be much nicer. 
 
 May. But I am deteriorating. I'm much nicer 
 now than I shall be presently. 
 
 Geoff. I shan't stand it. 
 
136 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 May. \Provohingly and laughing J\ Don't, 
 dear Geoff, don't. 
 
 [Sir J. and Lord B. get out of hearing. 
 
 Ida. You are the strangest creatures. 
 
 Geoff. May used to be a nice girl. 
 
 May. I'm not now. 
 
 Geoff. No, you're not. I've half a mind to 
 go to Paris. 
 
 May. There's a great deal going on there. 
 
 Geoff. Yes, there is — and they want me. 
 
 May. l^Teasingly.'] I am sure they do. If 
 you took the six o'clock train from here, to-day, 
 you would be there to-morrow morning .f* 
 
 Geoff. \Savagely.^ Oh! 
 
 [Goes off hurriedly through the loggia, 
 
 Ida. [Who, with Julia, has been looking on 
 at them half-amused.^ Really, May, you do 
 worry him. 
 
 May. I can't help it. I'm very fond of him; 
 he's a dear boy, but I don't want to marry him 
 — that's the whole story — I — don't — ^want — to 
 — ^marry — him. 
 
 Ida. I wonder where he's gone? 
 
 [Goes out to loggia and looJcs after him; 
 thus Julia and May are left virtually 
 alone. 
 
 May. I can't bear telling Ida that I don't 
 want Geoff — because he is her brother; but what 
 can I do? 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 137 
 
 Julia. There isn't any one else? 
 
 May. No. But it would be dreadfully slow 
 to marry a cousin — not like being married at all; 
 only like staying on a life-long visit to a rela- 
 tion. 
 
 Julia. He has been fond of you so long now. 
 
 May. [Nods.] Ever since that summer in 
 Switzerland — years ago — when I had a pig-tail 
 — he pulled it when we quarrelled. But he 
 killed all the wasps. 
 
 Julia. It's splendid of Uncle Edward to want 
 you to marry him. 
 
 May. Oh, yes, I know; and mother does, too. 
 I am trying. But the Barnstaples are poor; 
 Geoff ought to marry money — and I want to wait 
 for the fairy prince. 
 
 Julia. The fairy prince generally comes too 
 soon or too late. . . . Don't marry Geoff if 
 you don't love him! There's only one thing in a 
 woman's life worth playing for, and, if she 
 misses it, everything else is a makeshift. 
 
 May. [Change of manner.] I wonder — did 
 you take makeshifts ? 
 
 Julia. I took the things I was told I couldn't 
 do without. That's what many women do — [In 
 a low voice, with a glance towards Sir James] 
 but — I have played the game fairly. 
 
 May. [Gravely.] Dear Julia 
 
 [Ida saunters in, and, as she does so. May 
 
1S8 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 takes up a white parasol that has been 
 by the piano. 
 
 May. I'm going down to the Curiosity Shop 
 — there are two old Savona pots that mother 
 would like 
 
 Ida. Take GeofF with you. 
 
 May. We should only quarrel. ... It 
 is warm enough for July. [Exit by loggia. 
 
 Ida. May never seems to fall in love with 
 any one, and every one does with her. 
 
 Julia. I know. 
 
 Ida. I wish they did with me; but I am the 
 kind of girl that men call a good sort and tell 
 things to — ^that's all. 
 
 Julia. I saw you sitting out for hours with 
 Mr. Robert Vallide at the Benson Greys. 
 
 Ida. I daresay, and we talked about other 
 people — people who care talk about themselves. 
 
 Julia. [Suddenly.'] Perhaps he'll fall in 
 love with May — it wouldn't please her mother. 
 
 Ida. No, it wouldn't . . . Men are very 
 strange. There was Teddy Haston — he used to 
 ride with me every day, but he never said a 
 word. ... I believe he's dumb. 
 
 Julia. I thought girls didn't want to be 
 married nowadays. 
 
 Ida. I don't want to be married, but I should 
 like to have a crowd of lovers following me — 
 it must cheer one up so — as it is, no one has ever 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 139 
 
 proposed to me at all, except Colonel Ends- 
 lei gh. 
 
 Julia. [Quickly.] Frank Endsleigh! Did 
 he? When? 
 
 Ida. In January; and even he wasn't in love 
 — told me he never had been since he first went 
 to India. He cared for some girl then, 
 but she married for money 
 
 Julia. [Trying to keep her manner natural.] 
 Why didn't you accept him? 
 
 Ida. Why should I? A middle-aged man^ 
 not even in love with me? 
 
 Julia. [Ruefully.] Yes, he's middle-aged 
 
 Re-enter Lord B., Sir James, and Geoff, not 
 May. 
 
 Lord B. [Half-amused, half -vexed.] Look 
 here, Geoif and May have been squabbling again 
 — he says you were both here, so you know about 
 it 
 
 Geoff. And I'm tired of it, I shall go to 
 Paris. Endsleigh's there, and the Pippins — 
 Janetta Pippin is worth a dozen of May — I be- 
 lieve she'd 
 
 Lord B. Nonsense, my boy — we don't want 
 any Miss Janetta Pippins in our family. You 
 have told us all a dozen times that your heart 
 is set on marrying May. 
 
 Geoff. It was — but it isn't now. 
 
 Lord B. She was just coming round. 
 
140 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Geoff. I don't believe she'll ever come round. 
 Look here, let me go for a week to Paris — she 
 told me to go, and I should like to take her at 
 
 her word 
 
 Lord B. Suppose she asks you to stay — what 
 then? 
 
 Geoff. Why — Oh! — she won't — not she 
 
 Ida. Father, let him go — it would be far bet- 
 ter. [Bell heard. 
 
 Julia. There's the front door bell, Mr. Val- 
 lide bringing in his nephew with proper formal- 
 ity, I suppose. 
 
 Geoff. I'll get out of the way. 
 Julia [To Ida.] And they don't want us. 
 [Exeunt Julia, Ida, and Geoff hi/ gar- 
 den. 
 
 [Stage left to Lord B. and Sir 
 James. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Servant. Mr. Vallide and Mr. Robert Val- 
 lide. 
 
 [Enter Mr. Vallide and Robert Val- 
 lide. Robert is about trventy-seven, 
 good-looJcing, good manners, with an 
 air of reserve and simplicity. He 
 should have a distinctive personality 
 as of a strong man able to hold his 
 own. 
 Lord B. [Going forward to him.] How do 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 141 
 
 you do, Vallide? Good of you to come. Not 
 very tired, after your journey? 
 
 Robert. Not at all, [shaking hands] and de- 
 lighted to come. 
 
 Lord B. Do you know Sir James Caxton.^ 
 
 Sir J. How do you do? [shaking hands.] 
 
 Lord B. Well now! Are your things here 
 
 Robert. I left them at the hotel on my way 
 up. 
 
 Lord B. Oh — but we expect you to stay with 
 us — plenty of room. 
 
 Robert. But 
 
 Lord B. We want you — ^then we can talk 
 over things at leisure. 
 
 Robert. [After a little pause.] Thank you 
 very much — my uncle refuses to take me on to 
 Rome with him. 
 
 Lord B. Good: we are here for another ten 
 days, and my sister — Lady Sarah Stratton — she 
 has kept house for me since my wife died — is 
 expecting you. Now — shall we get to business? 
 Your uncle wants to go to-night, so there isn't 
 much time. 
 
 Sir J. I don't know whether I need stay? 
 
 Lord B. Yes — yes — we want you. [To Rob- 
 ert.] No doubt you were surprised to get your 
 uncle's telegram. 
 
 Robert. [With a smile.] No. He was al- 
 ways prompt — and always telegraphs. 
 
142 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Vallide. Ah! the world I live in is a sturdy 
 youngster, in a hurry to overtake the old one. 
 
 Lord B. Quite right — let's sit down. [To 
 Robert.] Mr. Vallide, your uncle expects a 
 great deal of you. 
 
 Vallide. I do. He must be Prime Minister 
 some day. 
 
 Robert. Rather a large order, uncle Bob! 
 
 Vallide. It can be done — step by step. One 
 gets to the top of a house by a ladder, not a 
 jump. 
 
 Lord B. [With a smile.} There's generally 
 a trap-door, and narrow stairs that lead to it. 
 [Turning to Robert.] Is your interest in poli- 
 tics as keen as ever? 
 
 Robert. Quite. 
 
 Lord B. Good. Have you thought of going 
 into Parliament ? 
 
 Robert. Yes — but I didn't expect 
 
 Lord B. Of course not, never expect any- 
 thing. . . . Sir James intends to resign his 
 seat for Fieldborough at the end of the Session. 
 I happened to mention it to your uncle the other 
 night, with the result that — well, the tele- 
 gram. 
 
 Robert. You think 
 
 Lord B. I can think of nobody better to sug- 
 gest to the Party than yourseljf — my opinion is 
 sure to be asked on account of my local influence 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 143 
 
 — and we shall be most fortunate if we can in- 
 duce you to stand. 
 
 Sir J. It would bother you less than most 
 places; there isn't much to subscribe to, and it's 
 a good way from London . . . they can't 
 bring you down for every bazaar or vestry meet- 
 ing. 
 
 Robert. [To Lord B.] I should be delighted 
 if I thought I had a chance. 
 
 Lord B. Chance — of course you'd have an ex- 
 cellent chance. It might be well to get some 
 local standing, if you rented a place, for in- 
 stance. I believe there'd be no difficulty. [Look- 
 ing towards old Vallide.] 
 
 Vallide. [Quickly.^ None. He can have as 
 much money as he pleases, and half a million 
 the day I see M. P. written after his name. 
 There'll be another half-million when I die. 
 
 Robert. This won't do. [Putting his hand 
 on his uncle's shoulder.] You mustn't take any 
 notice of him. Lord Barnstaple. 
 
 Vallide. You are my boy. I haven't any one 
 else. 
 
 Robert. Yes, uncle Bob, I'm your boy, but 
 too old to be tipped any longer. 
 
 Lord B. Well, we shall be at Fieldborough at 
 Whitsuntide, perhaps you'll come down and see 
 a little of the neighbourhood. 
 
 Robert. Thank you very much. You have 
 
144 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 taken me by surprise. But it is what I would 
 like immensely. 
 
 Vallide. You can spend money like water. 
 
 Robert. No! Uncle Bob. It's difficult to dis- 
 appoint you, but you gave me the weapons to 
 fight my own battle, and you must let me do it. 
 I don't want to spend money like water, and 
 I'm not going to take that half-million — while 
 you live at any rate. You may want to alter 
 your mind about it, before you die. 
 
 Lord B. There'll be expenses. 
 
 Robert. They needn't be extravagant — andl 
 [looking at his uncle] I can meet them. I am 
 modern enough to want only the money I've 
 worked for. 
 
 Lord B. Humph — I hope your views are 
 sound — some of us, you see, can't help having 
 money without working for it. 
 
 Robert. An inheritance — excellent. It gives 
 people a chance to do all sorts of things for the 
 world that would never get done at all if every- 
 body had to work for a living. Don't think I 
 imagine that the working class consists only of 
 those who earn money — some of the best work 
 in the whole world has been done by men who 
 never earned a penny in the technical sense — 
 they wouldn't have been able to do it if they 
 had been poor. 
 
 Lord B. Good. And on other points? 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 145 
 
 Robert. On all points I am, politically, pre- 
 cisely what I was when I had the honour of be- 
 ing your Private Secretary. 
 
 Lord B. That's right. 
 
 Robert. But I should like to try for Field- 
 borough without taking a place, or trying to daz- 
 zle the electors. If there's a fight all the better, 
 but I don't want a money one. 
 
 Sir J. Quite right. Money's overrated. I 
 never got anything out of it, and if people can 
 get it out of you they never want anything else; 
 it's generally a most degrading element in hu- 
 man life. 
 
 Vallide. Well — it's only a man with a com- 
 fortable income who can afford to say that. 
 
 Sir J. [To Old Vallide.] I daresay — I 
 don't think you want me any more just now — I 
 shall be happy to be of use to your nephew if 
 I can. 
 
 [Exit Sir James by loggia. 
 
 Lord B. [Turning to Robert.] You are a 
 pretty good speaker, I believe? 
 
 Robert. I haven't had much opportunity, 
 except at the Union — at Oxford; which doesn't 
 count for much. 
 
 Lord B. Well, but you helped Fuller with his 
 election ? 
 
 Robert. I did a little. [Modestly.'] 
 
 [Sir James, at end of loggia, signs to 
 
146 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lord B., as if he wanted to speak to 
 him. 
 
 Lord B. [Evidently pleased with Robertas 
 modesty S\ Ah! I think we shall get on. [To 
 the Uncle Vallide] He is quite right. 
 
 Vallide. I'm delighted to hear you say it, 
 my lord. 
 
 Lord B. And don't be disappointed. Some 
 day he will marry, then you can settle that half- 
 million on his wife, or his heirs, he'll want it as 
 a background for his career, though he refuses 
 it as a foundation. 
 
 Vallide. [Good-naturedly. '^ I'm very angry 
 with him, but I rather like him for it 
 
 Lord B. One moment — I think Caxton wants 
 to speak to me. 
 
 [Exit Lord B. to loggia, where he stands 
 well out of hearing, talking to Sir J. 
 
 Robert. Thank you for that, Uncle Bob. 
 [Then with a change of manner.'] And look 
 here, it was splendid of you to telegraph me, 
 and Barnstaple's a brick. I'll fight Fieldborough 
 with all my might, if I get the chance. He said 
 I was ambitious — he's right — I am. Don't be 
 afraid, Uncle Bob, no trap-doors or back stair- 
 cases, but look up to the topmost rung, I'll make 
 for it. Probably I shall come down crash like 
 the Master-Builder, but never mind. 
 
 Vallide. I'll make the fall soft for you if 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 147 
 
 you do. [Robert shakes his head.] And Lord 
 Barnstaple gave me a tip just now by which I'll 
 cheat the death-due monger of a good deal all 
 the same 
 
 Robert. You immoral old scoundrel! 
 
 Vallide. [Delighted.] So you'd better set 
 about collecting them. 
 
 Robert. Collecting what? 
 
 Vallide. Belongings. A wife, to begin 
 with 
 
 Robert. No, thank you- 
 
 Vallide. I think Lady Ida's sweet on you. 
 
 Robert. Nonsense. She's a good sort, but 
 not that kind of girl. I say — [change of man- 
 ner] — It's awfully kind of Lord Barnstaple to 
 ask me to stay here, but I wish you'd let me go 
 on to Rome with you to-morrow. 
 
 Vallide. [Firmly.] No, my boy, it would 
 bother me. It's always been my way to see what 
 I've got, then to put it aside. Do you remember 
 when you came out to Canada first.'* Why, after a 
 couple of days I wondered what I was going to 
 do with you. Luckily, you had to be educated, 
 that took you off. Just the same when you came 
 back. I couldn't sleep the night before you 
 arrived, but once I'd seen you again I didn't want 
 you to stay very long. When a man's lived his 
 life alone he has to be left to himself to the end. 
 . . . Perhaps we mayn't get another word to- 
 
148 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 gether this journey, but think over the hint I've 
 given you. When you marry, I \7ant to be proud 
 
 of your wife 
 
 Robert. [Gaily.'] You shall 
 
 Vallide. She'll be proud enough of you — you 
 are made of the real stuff 
 
 Robert. Don't say that or I shall have a 
 weird future. 
 
 Vallide. Pure gold 
 
 Robert. Pure gold is too soft for the wear 
 and tear of this world, Uncle Bob — besides you 
 make me feel like the good young man who 
 died. 
 
 Vallide. Who was he? 
 
 Robert. He painted beautifully in water 
 colours, and of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 Not my sort, Uncle Bob — I want to live, to live! 
 I'm not the puny, half -starved boy any more — 
 you nourished me, and the fresh life of the New 
 World — where it is still morning time and the 
 strength of the day is before it^ — stirs my pulses 
 sometimes till I feel as if I could carry the uni- 
 verse in a bag swung over my shoulders. 
 
 Vallide. That's what I want you to do — that's 
 what I want — [lower tone.l They're coming. 
 Enter Julia and Ida by loggia. 
 
 Ida. How do you do, Mr. Vallide? [Shakes 
 hands.] You know my cousin. Lady Caxton? 
 [Ida rings the bell.] 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 149 
 
 Julia. [To Robert.] How do you do? We 
 all know you. 
 
 Re-enter Sir James and Lord B., talking; they 
 hang bach at first. 
 Servants come in and lay tea. Right. 
 [Ida crosses stage with Robert Vallide. 
 He and she stand first, then sit on sofa 
 L., grand piano behind them. 
 
 Ida. [Turning to Robert.] I'm so glad you 
 were able to come. 
 
 Robert. So am I. 
 
 Ida. [Looking round and speaking to Lady 
 Caxton.] Julia, I wonder if you would make 
 tea — I want to talk to Mr. Vallide. 
 
 Julia. Of course. [Sits down to table, with 
 Sir J. and Lord B. near her.] 
 
 Ida. [Turning again to Robert.] Father 
 tells me that he has asked you to come to us at 
 Court Acres — Fieldborough, you know. 
 
 Robert. I shall look forward to it. 
 
 Ida. It's very dull — Sir James was horribly 
 bored — but they are waking up — that's what 
 Father is so afraid of, for then they'll want to 
 go away — there isn't enough work for them there. 
 
 Robert. It must he found .^ Every place 
 should have its own industry — its own workers — 
 work that can be done under a clear sky and in 
 pure air. We want to grow strong men, not 
 ansemics cooped up in cities 
 
150 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Ida. Tell them so! Sir James wouldn't talk 
 to them. 
 
 Robert. He sees things 
 
 Ida. [Quickli/.'] I think that, too. Perhaps 
 a spell has been put upon him and he has to be 
 silent. 
 
 Robert. Perhaps. {^Looking round.'\ This 
 place is like a dream, and a spell sounds the 
 most natural thing in the world. [Looks round at 
 the tea-table. Change of manner.] Some tea? 
 
 Ida. Please. [They go together to the tea- 
 table at which Julia is presiding, but remain 
 standing. 
 
 Robert [To Ida.] By the way, I met a 
 friend of yours at dinner the other night — Col- 
 onel Endsleigh. [Julia looks up. 
 
 Ida. [Demurely.] Oh. 
 
 Robert. He said he was coming to Paris and 
 Monte Carlo, and going back by Genoa. 
 
 Sir J. [Grumpily. 'I When is he going back 
 to India .^ 
 
 Robert. In October 
 
 Sir J. [Who has been listening.'] Ah! 
 
 Robert. [To Ida.] Now — bread and butter! 
 [Hands some to Ida who retreats towards sofa 
 again with her tea. Robert puts the plate back 
 on table and turns to rejoin Ida — looks towards 
 garden, gives a little start, hesitates, and says in 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 151 
 
 a different tone.] Who is that coming up the 
 garden by the orange-trees? 
 
 [Ida turns her head as May Murison 
 comes up the steps to the loggia. 
 
 Ida Oh^ it's my cousin. [Robert stands stock 
 still staring at her. Ida looking at him in sur- 
 prise, after a pause.] Do you know her? 
 
 Robert. [Without moving his eyes from May.] 
 No. 
 
 Enter May. Robert stands hesitating. He 
 and she look at each other. 
 
 Julia. [To May.] Did you get your pots? 
 
 May. I did. 
 
 Lord B. [Gets up.] Pots — what pots? 
 
 May. Two blue and white pots^ old Sevona. 
 I wanted them for mother. 
 
 Lord B. Where's GeofF? 
 
 May. I don't know. 
 
 Lord B. Oh. Well, let me introduce you to 
 the future member for Fieldborough. [To Rob- 
 ert.] Vallide, this is my niece, Miss May Muri- 
 son. 
 
 May. How do you do? [She holds out her 
 hand.] 
 
 Robert. How do you do? [He takes it as if 
 in a dream.] 
 
 [Ida gets up from the sofa, as if she knerv 
 that he wouldn't come back to her. Goes 
 
152 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 over to the tea-table and joins the group 
 there. 
 Julia. \_From tea-table.] Some tea. May? 
 May. Please. 
 
 [Julia pours out and gives it to Robert. 
 [May half -unconsciously retreats a step 
 towards the sofa on L. where Ida had 
 been sitting. Takes the tea from Rob- 
 ert — sits down. He first stands and 
 then sits down beside her while they 
 talk. 
 Julia. [At tea-table to Ida.] We must go over 
 to Monte Carlo, Mr. Vallide has been telling us 
 of a system. 
 
 Vallide. It only works for a time. 
 Julia. I might get some money for frocks, 
 in Paris on our way home. [Laughter.] 
 
 May. [To Robert.] Oh, yes. We've been 
 quite excited since the telegram went. What did 
 you think it meant? 
 
 Robert. I thought it was one of my uncle's 
 sudden inspirations, but I was glad to come to 
 Italy. 
 
 May. You will love this place, it's so little — 
 and so still. No fashionable people or prome- 
 nade, or Kursaal, or anything of that sort, only 
 the mountains and the Mediterranean, and the 
 olives, and there are wonderful walks. 
 
 [During this talk it seems almost as if an 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 153 
 
 enchantment stole over Robert, as if he 
 were under a spell from which he is only 
 roused hy the interruption at the end 
 of the Act. 
 
 Robert. I should like to do them all. 
 
 May. Oh, but you will, of course. Uncle Ed- 
 ward said he should ask you to stay 
 
 Robert. Have you been here long? 
 
 May. I came with Lady Caxton a week ago. 
 
 Robert. Lady Caxton is ? 
 
 May. My cousin. 
 
 Robert. \_As if remembering.'] Yes. And 
 Lord Barnstaple? 
 
 May. Lord Barnstaple is my great-uncle — 
 my mother's uncle. 
 
 Robert. {^Keenly interested hut trying not to 
 show it.] Of course — and Lady Sarah Stratton? 
 I heard she was here — she is your — great- 
 aunt? 
 
 May. Yes; she is upstairs to-day, doing a 
 little gout, unfortunately. She has kept house 
 for Uncle Edward since his wife died. She al- 
 ways takes care of some one 
 
 Robert. Did she take care of you? 
 
 May. Oh yes, of us all, — my father went back 
 
 to Egypt some time after Gordon died — and 
 
 [stops] 
 
 Robert. [Showing that he understands what 
 she means.] 1 know — That must have been? 
 
154 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 May. Seventeen years ago^ when I was a little 
 girl. 
 
 Robert. [^Keenly interested, hut trying not to 
 show it.'] And then you went abroad? 
 
 May. Yes, with Aunt Sarah and lived in Swit- 
 zerland for years. 
 
 Robert. And now.-^ 
 
 May. Now we have come back — oh, but (won- 
 deringly) it is only two minutes since we met, 
 and I am suddenly telling you my family history 
 — you seemed so interested — I suppose it was 
 Gordon's name — an Englishman always thrills 
 to it! 
 
 Robert. Always. . . . Did you like liv- 
 ing in Switzerland? 
 
 May. Yes, but we were glad to come back. 
 We are settling down now — on Campden Hill. 
 Mother just missed getting our old house in Har- 
 ford Terrace again by a few hours. 
 
 Robert. I saw some furniture going in last 
 week. 
 
 May. But you didn't know it was our house, 
 or that we had lived there. 
 
 Robert. I saw some furniture going into an 
 empty house in Harford Terrace, I happened to 
 be passing. 
 
 May. I dare say it was the one we lived in. 
 
 [-4 burst of laughter comes from the tea-stable. 
 
 Lord B. No, that wouldn't do. at all. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 155 
 
 Vallide. You see, after a point the bank steps 
 in and sweeps it all off. 
 
 Julia. Well, I was told that if you followed 
 the colour it was a very safe lead. 
 
 Robert. [To May.] Those gamblers are still 
 discussing Monte Carlo. 
 
 May. It seems wicked to talk of money in this 
 place, doesn't it.^* The valleys are choked with 
 violets, and you can't think what the narcissus 
 and the jonquils are like. 
 
 Robert. There's a little red Roman road — 
 some one told me of it 
 
 May. Through the olive woods; it goes to 
 Santa Croce. At night, when the moonlight comes 
 through the trees, it's like an enchantment. 
 
 Robert. [Dreamili/.] It's like an enchantment 
 here. What is the ruin on that top of the moun- 
 tain over the way.^* 
 
 May. It's the princess's church. 
 
 Robert. What princess? 
 
 May. Hundreds of years ago there was a 
 princess who loved some one who wasn't — any- 
 body at all, and the king wouldn't let her marry 
 him * 
 
 Robert. So she buijt a church to be married 
 in? 
 
 May. No, she married him first, in spite of 
 all things. 
 
 * This is a well-known legend of Alassio. 
 
156 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Robert. I like that princess. 
 
 May. So do I. 
 
 Robert. And then.'* 
 
 May. And then they hid themselves away in a 
 little chalet on the mountain, and were very happy 
 for a long time. 
 
 Robert. Just those two together? 
 
 May. Just those two together. One day, by 
 chance, the king came upon them. She was wash- 
 ing clothes, and singing while she did it, and the 
 king was so struck with her happiness that he 
 forgave them, and they went back to court. But 
 sometimes, long afterwards, when he had been 
 made a noble, they used to steal away to the little 
 mountain home 
 
 Robert. And then? 
 
 May. The princess said she would build a 
 church to its memory. It was finished while he 
 was at the war, and the night he was coming 
 home she had it lighted up and waited for him. 
 But he never came — he never, never came back. 
 They light it up still once a year, and say a mass 
 for his soul — up there in the ruins. So, you see, 
 the story is not forgotten. 
 
 Robert. It will never be forgotten. It has 
 the seed of immortality in it. 
 
 May. [Dreamily.^ Among the high weeds, 
 perhaps, growing close against its walls. [With 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 157 
 
 a little start. ^ What a strange talk this is, Mr. 
 Vallide! 
 
 Robert. It's only five minutes ago now 
 
 [Lord B. and old Vallide come forward 
 
 talking together. There is a movement 
 
 among the rest of the group. May and 
 
 Robert get up. 
 
 Vallide. I'm very much obliged to you for 
 
 everything, Lord Barnstaple; I'm delighted to 
 
 think that he's going to stay with you, and if 
 
 Lady Ida takes him in hand a bit, why he'll be 
 
 all right. 
 
 Ida. l^Looks round with a little laugh, and says 
 
 to Vallide.] I'll do my best 
 
 May. [Robert takes up a photograph from the 
 piano behind the sofa."] That's my cousin, Geoff 
 — Lord Barnstaple's son, you know. He is here 
 with us. 
 
 Robert. Oh, yes, Lord Stratton. {^Puts it 
 down.] 
 
 May. You knew him 
 
 Robert. No. I never saw him. I was only 
 
 Lord Barnstaple's political secretary for a few 
 
 weeks. [Lord Barnstaple comes forward. 
 
 [May and Ida saunter towards the window 
 
 with Vallide so as to he out of hearing. 
 
 Lord B. [To Robert.] I saw you looking at 
 
 my son's portrait. 
 
158 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Robert. Miss Murison has just been telling 
 
 Lord B. [His face lighting up.'] Has she? She 
 is a very interesting person to him, and — I'm 
 speaking as if you were my confidential secretary 
 again — I think — I hope — she is going to make 
 him happy. Oh, there he is. 
 
 [Geoff has appeared on the loggia, look- 
 ing determined. He has changed his 
 clothes. 
 [Lord B. leaves Robert, who has been 
 aghast at his last speech, and goes to- 
 wards his son. 
 [Vallide and Sir James come up to Rob- 
 ert and speak to him, but he stands 
 watching May and the group on the 
 other side of the room, though presum- 
 ably he doesn't hear what they say. 
 Lord B. [To Geoff.] Where are you going? 
 Geoff. [To his father.] I am tired of this 
 place — can't think what you can see in it. Monte 
 Carlo is good enough for me — or Paris — and 
 I'm off there, unless — [Looks towards May.] 
 
 Lord B. [To May anxiously.] Ask him to stay, 
 my dear. 
 
 May. To stay? [Looks up, unconsciously, gives 
 a glance towards Robert.] Oh — I can't. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT III 
 
 Time. — Ten days later. Late afternoon. 
 
 Scene. — Garden of the Villa. On i.. a deep 
 loggia with doorrvay into the house — which 
 should be seen above it. The windows of 
 the house should have green jalousie blinds. 
 Rest of Stage taken up with garden — seats 
 conveniently placed, S^c. At bach (a cloth) 
 mountain with olives, and on top ruin of a 
 church (with ruined windows). Bushes, 
 flowers, S^c, picturesque garden. 
 
 On the jj., near doorway, sitting on a low chair 
 Lady Sarah Stratton looking much older 
 than in the First Act, she wears a shawl, a 
 walJcing-stick is against her chair. She has 
 evidently been suffering, but her manner is 
 as vigorous as ever. Julia is sitting by her 
 with an open book on her lap. To the r., 
 lower down alm(Ost hidden from them by 
 bushes or trees on a seat as if waiting, Rob- 
 ert and May are sitting together, but Lady 
 S. does not know they are there. 
 
 Farther back, centre of Stage Sir James is lean- 
 ing against side of loggia looking sulkily 
 ahead. Presently he smokes, 
 159 
 
160 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lady S. No, thank you, I don't want to hear 
 any more. What did you say was the name of 
 the woman who wrote it? 
 
 Julia. [Turning to the title-page,] Eliza St. 
 John Blake. 
 
 [May and Robert amused, lean forward 
 and listen. 
 
 Sir J. What is the matter with her? 
 
 Lady S. She's vulgar. There isn't a creature 
 in her book who hasn't a title. 
 
 Julia. It's rather funny, you know. She al- 
 way speaks of " the Marquis " and " the Earl." 
 
 Lady S. Just as if they'd never been chris- 
 tened — or were illegitimate. It's extraordinary 
 how many novelists are afraid to write of their 
 own class of which at any rate they know some- 
 thing. They always want to gather up their skirts 
 in a slum or to trail them through a palace — 
 though they belong to neither, and very soon be- 
 tray it. 
 
 Julia. The middle-class is rather dull, you 
 know. Aunt Sarah, they want to look outside it. 
 
 Lady S. DuU.^ Not at all; it's so enterpris- 
 ing and very often intellectual. Besides people 
 are not made more interesting or less vulgar by 
 being given handles to their names; it's a great 
 pity the wrong people take them — they only look 
 ridiculous; and plain misters have done most for 
 the world. Look at the politicians, they do their 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS l6l 
 
 best wojk in Lower House, when they are past it 
 and stupid they are sent to the Upper one. 
 
 Julia. How about Uncle Edward? 
 
 Lady S. \With a certain amount of uncon- 
 scious pride.'] My dear, he was born there; that 
 makes a difference. I was very much amused a 
 year ago at Montreux, there were some pushing 
 people and Evelyn Murison who has a stiff 
 neck 
 
 May. Aunt Sarah! 
 
 Lady S. \_D is concerted.] Yes, my dear, your 
 Mother has an exceedingly stiff neck, always had. 
 . I didn't know you two were there — what 
 are you doing — why don't you go for a walk.^ 
 
 May. Mr. Vallide is waiting for Uncle Ed- 
 ward, who wanted a talk with him. 
 
 Lady S. [To Robert.] Why are you going 
 away to-morrow morning? My brother asked you 
 to stay until the end of the week, didn't he? 
 
 Robert. I have had a delightful visit; but I'm 
 afraid I must get back. 
 
 Lady S. Oh— Why— Who is this? 
 Enter from door under loggia on l. Col. Ends- 
 LEiOH. He is about 38 or 40, a distinguished, 
 soldierly-looking man. A little grave and 
 slow in manner. Robert and May go for- 
 ward as they see him. 
 
 Julia. [Evidently taken by surprise.] Frank 
 — Colonel Endsleigh, when did you come? 
 
162 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 [Sir James comes forward, 
 
 Endsleigh. An hour ago. I have been hav- 
 ing a talk with Lord Barnstaple and Lady Ida. 
 How do you do, Lady Sarah? The old enemy? 
 [Pointing to the stick against her chair. ^ 
 
 Lady S. My only lover, you should say — it is 
 as troublesome as your sex and as constant as 
 mine. 
 
 Endsleigh. How do you do. Sir James? 
 [Shaking hands. 1 
 
 Sir J. [Sulkily.] How do? Is Geoff with 
 you? We have been expecting him here. 
 
 Endsleigh. No. I have come for him. [Look- 
 ing towards May.] 
 
 Julia. That is Evelyn's girl 
 
 Endsleigh. I knew her mother a good many 
 years ago. [Shaking hands with May.] [To 
 Robert, nodding.] You were just off when I 
 saw you last. 
 
 Robert. I was. Have you come from Paris? 
 
 Endsleigh. Yes. 
 
 Sir J. How long are you going to stay at 
 Alassio ? 
 
 Endsleigh. An hour or two. The train for 
 Genoa stops here at 7:30 — I go by it. 
 Enter Ida from loggia door on l., stands wait- 
 ing a moment, then she stoops and speaks to 
 Lady S. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS l63 
 
 Sir J. [Evidently satisfied.] Why hasn't 
 Geoff come? 
 
 Endsleigh. He couldn't very well 
 
 Lady S. [To Ida who has been leaning down 
 to her.] Wants me? Is anything the matter. 
 [Tries to get up.] 
 
 Endsleigh. Let me. [Goes forward and helps 
 her with her stick , ^'c] 
 
 Lady S. I suppose I shall know soon enough. 
 [Ea;it with Endsleigh into the house. 
 
 Ida. [To Julia.] Father wants you, and 
 cousin James, too. 
 
 Sir J. [Stirring himself with a grunt.] What 
 is it all about, I wonder? 
 
 Julia. [Lingers behind a minute with Ida 
 and asJcs in a low voice.] Has Frank Endsleigh 
 come for you? Is that it? 
 
 Ida. No. He has been sent to explain why 
 
 Geoff is not coming back. [Exit with Julia. 
 
 [Robert and May left alone on stage. 
 
 May. [Who has overheard.] To explain why 
 he is not coming back! 
 
 Robert. You have been expecting him? 
 
 May. I didn't know — I thought perhaps he 
 would come. Uncle Edward wanted him. [Locks 
 up at the ruin on the mountain.] This is the 
 night they illuminate the church. I was afraid 
 you wouldn't see it 
 
164. THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Robert. The Princess's lover never saw it. 
 [Checks himself. All through this interview he 
 should heep himself well in hand."] I wish we 
 could have gone to Santa Croce again. 
 
 May. I wish it, too. 
 
 Robert. [Pause.] I wonder if we shall ever 
 know each other again? 
 
 May. Know each other again — of course we 
 shall — why we have been friends — friends — these 
 last ten days. We have so many things in com- 
 mon. 
 
 Robert. [Impatiently.'] Books and pictures 
 and music — and the same Heaven or Hell to 
 go to when we die. ~But for the rest our ways 
 in this world lie apart. 
 
 May. Are we never to meet any more? 
 
 Robert. Meet? Of course we shall meet. 
 We shall come across each other at evening par- 
 ties, or nod from the stalls of a theatre. If I 
 get in for Fieldborough and you are in London 
 perhaps you will ask me to a Sunday luncheon, 
 or if you are at — what is the Barnstaples' place 
 called — Court Acres — for a Saturday to Mon- 
 day. 
 
 May. I shall never be at Court Acres. 
 
 Robert. But that won't be knowing each 
 other. And yet there will be always be behind us 
 this ten days' dream at Alassio. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 165 
 
 May. I wish we could take things out of 
 dreams and carry them away. 
 
 Robert. The roots of most things lie in 
 them 
 
 May. And this time here 
 
 Robert. Will help our conjectures in the fu- 
 ture. — We have had some good days? 
 
 May. Such happy ones. [^Hurriedly, as if 
 she were afraid of betraying too much.] I sim- 
 ply love this place — and all the paths up the 
 mountains. 
 
 Robert. Do you remember the charcoal burn- 
 er's shed — where you told me about your mother, 
 and little Dora studying art in Dresden.^ 
 
 May. She's taller than I am 
 
 Robert. And Jack, who went up to Sand- 
 hurst last October? 
 
 May. [Puzzled.] I always feel as if you 
 knew us. 
 
 Robert. I do — in my thoughts. I know ex- 
 actly what your mother looks like. 
 
 May. [Shyly.] Would you care to come and 
 see her? 
 
 Robert. No! [Quickly.] 1 will wait — till 
 I have done more. Perhaps I imagine her 
 younger than she is now — as she was when your 
 father died. 
 
 May. I don't think she has altered very much. 
 
166 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Robert. Do you remember that time? 
 
 May. Oh, yes — so well, though I was very 
 little. Aunt Sarah was such an angel to us. 
 I shall never forget how she consoled me on my 
 journey to Switzerland when I lost one of my 
 white mice [He gives a little start. 
 
 Robert. One of your white mice? 
 
 May. They were in a cage — and I carried 
 them all the way. Once at a station buffet, a 
 waiter opened the cage door and didn't fasten 
 it properly perhaps — it had been broken and 
 mended. 
 
 Robert. Of course [Stops abruptly. 
 
 May. [Looking up at him quickly for a min- 
 ute, then going on unsuspiciously.] One of them 
 got out and I never saw it again. A little boy 
 gave them to me who went to Australia. [Rob- 
 ert turns his head.] No, it was Canada — your 
 country. ... I imagine that mouse sometimes 
 wandering about the world alone just as he may 
 be doing. 
 
 Robert. Do you think the mouse has lived so 
 long, or that he is as little as you remember 
 him? 
 
 May. Don't be cynical — I like to imagine that 
 the world is a fairy story; so let me be senti- 
 mental about my white mouse and Thomas. 
 
 Robert. Thomas ? 
 
 May. That was the little boy's name. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 167 
 
 Lady S. [Heard off.] I am going out again. 
 
 Robert. [Quickli^.'] Couldn't we go round 
 the garden? 
 
 May. Not now. [Half to herself.] I must 
 see Colonel Endsleigh. [Then quickly.] I think 
 he brings me a message from Geoff. I wrote 
 to him the other day, that is why I told you I 
 should never be at Court Acres — I mean living 
 there. 
 
 Enter Lady S., and Lord B., and then Julia, 
 from door under loggia. 
 
 Lord B. Well, May? 
 
 May. Where is Colonel Endsleigh? 
 
 Lord B. In the drawing-room. I wish you 
 would go to him, my dear. 
 
 [Exit May quickly into the house. 
 [Robert looks after her for a moment, 
 then turns towards the garden and 
 exit r. 
 
 Lady S. Give me your arm, Edward, I should 
 like to try and walk a little. [They go on a few 
 steps; she is evidently in pain.] No, I can't do 
 it. [Sits down on seat r.] Ah! [With relief.] 
 This is very surprising news! 
 
 Lord B. Astounding! 
 
 Lady S. [Drily.] Evelyn won't be pleased. 
 
 Lord B. Neither am I. 
 
 Lady S. The money will be useful — Court 
 Acres could absorb a good deal. 
 
168 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lord B. We have never done that sort of 
 thing, and — [as Sir J. enters^ — I agree with 
 Caxton, money is overrated. 
 
 Sir J. Everything is overrated, except the 
 right things. 
 
 Lord B. It's probably a sudden infatuation 
 — 'pon my word, I shall be ashamed to tell May. 
 
 Julia. She won't break her heart, Uncle Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 Sir J. [Meaningly.^ I think she finds Mr. 
 Robert Vallide very agreeable. 
 
 Lord B. Vallide? Oh no, that's absurd. 
 [^Pause.'] But she has talked to him a good deal 
 now I think of it. 
 
 Sir J. Why shouldn't she? 
 
 Lady S. [Drily.'] I don't think her mother 
 would like it. As I said an hour ago, unfortu- 
 nately in the young man's hearing — she is a very 
 stiff-necked woman. 
 
 Julia. We don't know any one belonging to 
 him — except his uncle, of course — but he's very 
 clever. 
 
 Lord B. Oh, yes, clever enough to be Prime 
 Minister one day, and as for money — still, you 
 know 
 
 Lady S. Evelyn is a difficult woman to cope 
 with. There were some people at Montreux one 
 winter — rich, and only occasionally vulgar, they 
 had a house in Park Lane 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 169 
 Lord B. Of course 
 
 Lady S. I believe it has become rather a low 
 neighbourhood ? 
 
 Lord B. [Humouring her.] A combination 
 of Houndsditch and Throgmorton Street. 
 
 Lady S. Well^ it's gone down. But nothing 
 would induce Evelyn to call upon them, she said 
 they were upstarts. 
 
 Lord B. Quite right. She has her own views 
 and sticks to them. 
 
 Lady S. And she would no more let her daugh- 
 ter marry young Vallide than she could fly. 
 
 Lord B. No — I expect not. 
 
 Sir J. Humph! he's not a fool, might do 
 worse; where is Endsleigh? 
 
 Julia. Talking to May. I think he has a 
 message from Geoff. 
 
 Enter Robert from garden r. crosses stage 
 to go into the house. 
 
 Lord B. [To Robert.] Oh, Vallide! I 
 wanted you — we might have a few minutes. You 
 
 start early to-morrow and 
 
 [Lady S. makes a movement as if in pain. 
 What's the matter — a twinge? 
 
 Lady S. A horrible twinge. [Gets up from 
 seat.] I'll go to that chair. 
 
 Robert. Let me help you. 
 
 [Robert takes her to chair on loggia, 
 Julia helps. 
 
170 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Julia. I am afraid you are in horrid pain. 
 
 Lady S. I'm in damnable pain. 
 
 Lord B. My dear Sarah — tut — tut — tut — 
 
 Lady S. My dear Edward, I'm making a plain 
 statement to describe a fact. 
 
 Robert. And I'm sure it gives you some re- 
 lief. Lady Sarah. 
 
 Lady S. Of course it does. You are a very sen- 
 sible young man, and my brother says you will 
 be Prime Minister one day. 
 
 Robert. Lord Barnstaple is much too kind. 
 
 Julia. [jTo Lady S.] You had much better 
 come in and take your dose. [Turning to Sir J.] 
 Will you help her, James? Uncle Edward wants 
 to talk to Mr. Vallide. 
 
 Sir J. Lean on me — there you are. 
 
 [Ea;it Lady Sarah into house with Julia. 
 Sir J., Robert, and Lord B. left alone 
 on stage. 
 
 Lord B. I wanted to tell you, Vallide, that 
 I had a letter from headquarters to-day and the 
 Carlton highly approves. In fact, everything is 
 before you; you have only to reach out your 
 hand. 
 
 Robert. I can never thank you enough. 
 
 Lord B. [Kind, but firm.] My dear fellow, 
 I am very glad if I've been of any use to you. 
 [Pause.] By the way, there's — er — something 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 171 
 
 else I want to say — a personal matter — it seems to 
 me that you have had a good many talks with my 
 niece since you came. 
 
 Robert. \^Surprised and a little stiffly.^ Miss 
 Murison has delightful views about — the things 
 in which most people are interested. 
 
 Lord B. Quite so. Shakespeare and the musi- 
 cal glasses — I believe young people discuss them 
 still — but under different names. She is a charm- 
 ing girl and no doubt she will make a great mar- 
 riage. Her mother — who is a very ambitious 
 woman — would never consent to anything else, 
 she expects it in fact. 
 
 Robert. I quite understand. 
 
 Lord B. When you came I told you that I 
 hoped some day she and my dear boy Geoff would 
 be everything to each other 
 
 Robert. I beg you to believe that I have 
 taken care never to forget it 
 
 Lord B. I'm sure of it. As a matter of fact 
 he asked her to marry him, but — they're cousins, 
 which prevents things from being so romantic as 
 they ought to be — at least that's her idea — and 
 - — to cut it short he is engaged to an American 
 girl — pretty, Endsleigh says, very much in love 
 with him, and an immense fortune which will 
 be useful of course — useful — and — well it can't 
 be helped. 
 
172 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Robert. [Brimming over with delight but 
 trying to conceal it.] I congratulate you, she is 
 certain to be delightful. 
 
 Lord B. You're very kind — but how do you 
 know? 
 
 Robert. Americans are always delightful. 
 Depend upon it, she's charming. 
 
 [Holds out his hand unconsciously. Lord 
 
 B. shakes it heartily. 
 
 Lord B. I hope you're right. . . . And 
 
 you don't think she has mistaken him for a duke? 
 
 One must make that little joke since she's an 
 
 American. 
 
 Robert. [Enthusiastically."] She takes him 
 for what he is — a gallant young soldier and the 
 only son of a distinguished statesman. 
 
 Lord B. Thank you, Vallide. By the way, 
 it's no secret^ — [looking at his watch] — Endsleigh 
 is going on to Genoa at 7:30, he won't let us 
 make dinner any earlier for him — says he would 
 rather dine in the train. 
 
 [Turns to go, his back is to Robert, who 
 stands stock still with his chin in his 
 hand. Ida comes to door under log- 
 gia but he doesn't see her. With a 
 sudden start he throws his hat into the 
 air. 
 Ida. [Running out.'\ Mr. Vallide, what is the 
 matter ? 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 173 
 
 Robert. [Holding out his hands to her.] 
 Hurrah ! 
 
 Ida. [Laughing, and taking them.'] Yes, but 
 why.-* 
 
 [While they are laughing. May comes out 
 on to the loggia followed by Sir J., 
 but he hangs bach and is not noticed. 
 Lord B. stops to talk to May. Sir J. 
 joins them. 
 Robert. [To Ida.] Ah! 
 
 Ida. Do tell me — what it is. Are you Prime 
 Minister already } 
 
 Robert. Not yet. [Conildentially.] But 
 — Lord Stratton is going to be married. 
 
 [She stares at him, then evidently comprehends. 
 Ida. But you told me at the Benson Greys 
 
 there was some one — you used to know 
 
 Robert. I have dreamt of her all my life, 
 
 but now 
 
 Ida. No"w? 
 
 Robert. Now I am awake. 
 Ida. [Puzzled.] What will happen? 
 Robert. I shall know when I have been in 
 London twenty-four hours. 
 Ida. Oh, you are a riddle. 
 Robert. Of which I long to know the an- 
 swer. 
 
 [Lord B. drarvs back as if he were speak- 
 ing confidentially to Julia, mho has 
 
174. THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 just re-entered and joined the group 
 at the loggia. Sir James and May saun- 
 ter out into the garden. 
 Robert. [To Ida significantly looking towards 
 Sir J.] Take him away. 
 
 [She nods, evidently understanding. 
 
 Ida. [To Sir J.] Cousin Jim, I have been 
 
 trying to get hold of you. Let us go down the 
 
 garden. The pepper-trees and the laburnums 
 
 are so lovely in the twilight. 
 
 Sir J. [Looks round, sees that Julia and 
 Lord B. are together. Hesitates.^ Oh — don't 
 know that I care for pepper-trees and labur- 
 nums 
 
 Ida. And the little banksia roses are coming 
 out on the wall by the sea. We might go for five 
 minutes while Colonel Endsleigh is finishing his 
 talk with Aunt Sarah — she won't let me get a 
 
 word with him 
 
 [This evidently reassures Sir J. Exit 
 with Ida on r. down garden. 
 Lord B. [To Julia.] I'll show it to you if 
 you like. 
 
 [Exit Lord B. by loggia into house, fol- 
 lowed by Julia. 
 [Robert and May left alone on stage. 
 Robert. [The twilight is evidently coming.] 
 It seems as if an enchantment had fallen again 
 — ^just as it did the first evening 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 175 
 
 [He stops and they look at each other em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 May. [Half hesitating.] You know Geoff is 
 going to be married? 
 
 Robert. I know — it is splendid 
 
 May. Why are you so glad.'* 
 
 Robert. [His restraint has vanished,] Be- 
 cause — because I'm devoted to Miss Pippin. 
 
 May. To Miss Pippin! You are altogether 
 different — quite suddenly. 
 
 Robert. The world is altogether different — 
 quite suddenly. The door of Heaven isn't open; 
 but it's creaking on its hinges. 
 
 May. Is it because of the letter Uncle Ed- 
 ward had from Downing Street.'' 
 
 Robert. No. 
 
 May. He thinks you'll do all manner of things. 
 
 Robert. I'll attempt them — I'll make for 
 them — for the sake of — her at whose feet they 
 will be laid. 
 
 May. [Slowly.] Who is she — mayn't I know? 
 I've told you so many things 
 
 Robert. I want to tell you — everything. But 
 not yet. Sometimes I feel as if you understood 
 without any telling, ... I long to speak, 
 but I mustn't — I can't. It isn't lack of courage 
 — it is something better than courage that holds 
 me back. There is an obstacle 
 
 May. An obstacle! 
 
176 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Robert. Yes — but in England 
 
 May. In England? 
 
 Robert. It may be swept away. — I don't 
 know — I only know that I long to see you al- 
 ways — I keep breaking my resolutions — these lit- 
 tle hands draw me on in spite of myself. I 
 daren't say any more — but I am going to-mor- 
 row on my life's quest. If we never meet again, 
 
 I shall think of you — dream of you 
 
 May. [In a low voice.] And I of you. 
 Robert. [^Hesitates, then with an evident de- 
 termination to control himself.'] Let us go and 
 look for the others. 
 
 [They turn towards the path r. down the 
 garden, stop for an instant and look 
 up at the ruined church on the moun- 
 tain. With an irresistible impulse, 
 Robert turns to May, takes her hands, 
 and says in a low passionate voice 
 My princess — my princess — as long as I live — 
 remember that. 
 
 [Robert and May disappear. The stage 
 
 is empty. Lord B., Endsleigh, and 
 
 Julia come through the loggia door 
 
 into the garden. 
 
 Lord B. [Looking round.] Where' have they 
 
 all gone ? 
 
 Julia. They're all in the garden. I saw 
 May's white dress disappearing. [Looks r. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 177 
 
 Lord B. I want to see Ida for a moment. 
 I'll go after them. 
 
 [Exit by the way the others went. 
 [Julia and Endsleigh left alone on the 
 stage. 
 
 Julia. [To Endsleigh.'] Why does he want 
 to see Ida? 
 
 Ends. I don't know — something about GeoiF, 
 I suppose. 
 
 [They sit down and look at each other for 
 a moment on seat l. centre by loggia. 
 
 Julia. This is the first time we've had a word 
 alone since you came from India. 
 
 Ends. I know — and I've been home three 
 months. Your husband's a good chap, but he 
 stalks you in such a sportsmanlike manner — 
 when I'm near, at any rate — that I can't get a 
 word in. 
 
 Julia. We were such friends in old days 
 
 Ends. I don't think he wants us to be friends 
 now. 
 
 Julia. Why shouldn't we be? I think you 
 are rather fond of — of — Ida 
 
 Ends. I asked her to marry me, but she 
 wouldn't — didn't think it good enough, I sup- 
 pose. 
 
 Julia. [In a voice she can hardly make 
 steady.] You told her that you had cared for 
 some one before — that you had cared for years. 
 
178 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Ends. I don't know what made me tell 
 her. 
 
 Julia. You did care.^ I thought it couldn't 
 be true 
 
 Ends. It is — ^though I don't like owning up 
 to you. 
 
 Julia. Why? I've always wondered 
 
 Ends. Well, you see, I was awfully fond of 
 you once. I think you liked me a bit, too. Do 
 you remember how we used to pull about on the 
 river? And the walks up and down the walled 
 garden at Hampden Court. 
 
 Julia. Yes. 
 
 Ends. You were awfully pretty — and it 
 doesn't seem to me that you've altered much. 
 There was a wet day at the end — ^when we looked 
 at the pictures. 
 
 Julia. And sat in the window seat. 
 
 Ends. That's it. I believe I was fonder of 
 you that day than of anything in the world. Lady 
 Caroline was in the garden and saw our heads 
 through the window. It was only four days be- 
 fore I went away . . . and she gave me a 
 talking-to before I left that night. 
 
 Julia. Aunt Caroline did? 
 
 Ends. [^Nods.^ She said you didn't care for 
 me in that way — that you were ambitious and I 
 was a pauper 
 
 Julia. O — ^h ! 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 179 
 
 Ends. I can tell you I was pretty hard hit for 
 the first few days on board. . . . There was 
 a girl going out to Bombay, five years older than 
 I was, and she took me in hand. It was about 
 the only thing that could have cured me. 
 
 Julia. And it did cure you? 
 
 Ends. In ten days I was her abject slave. 
 At Calcutta and Simla — by some extraordinary 
 luck we were always at the same place — we spent 
 weeks together. It was an infatuation, I sup- 
 pose; but it overwhelmed me like a wave. I 
 fancy it amused her a good deal. She married 
 Galsted, that man who got a peerage the other 
 day for giving a public park somewhere. 
 
 Julia. Have you seen her since? 
 
 Ends. Yes — she would have liked to fool me 
 a little more, I think. She didn't mean any harm, 
 |but she is the sort of woman who likes to have 
 a current of sentiment running through her life. 
 
 Julia. [Cynically.'\ And you forgot me en- 
 tirely ? 
 
 Ends. No; but I jammed you down and 
 stamped on you whenever you tried to come up. 
 When I met Ida, a few months ago, she had a 
 look of you in the eyes which sent me raking 
 over the old ground. And she's an awfully good 
 chum. 
 
 Julia. If you want to marry her, you must 
 tell her that you love her. 
 
180 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Ends. [Slowly.'] I am not sure that I do; 
 but it seemed — like taking up the old story. 
 
 Julia. [With a bitter laugh.] Oh, you men 
 are so incomprehensible. Long ago I thought you 
 cared for me — I was certain you did — all those 
 hours on the river, and in the garden, and the 
 
 things you said . I was certain — certain — 
 
 certain that you cared. 
 
 Ends. I did. 
 
 Julia. And yet Aunt Caroline made you be- 
 lieve that I wanted money; and you went away 
 without a word, and told a girl on board the 
 boat about me. 
 
 Ends. She saved me from blowing my brains 
 out. 
 
 Julia. And you've been infatuated with her 
 more or less all your life. Now you want to 
 marry Ida 
 
 Ends. Let me explain. I loved you honestly 
 enough, but I was hot-headed. If I hadn't done 
 something I might have gone headlong to the 
 devil. 
 
 Julia. So you made love to a woman five years 
 older than yourself 
 
 Ends. Well, but after all you seem to have 
 been happy enough 
 
 Julia. It isn't fair to a man when you bear 
 his name to go about looking dissatisfied; IVe 
 tried to play fair — — 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 181 
 
 Ends. Caxton has twenty thousand a year. I 
 couldn't ha\x done you as well as that. 
 
 Julia. [Almost without knowing it.^ What 
 is the good of gold when you want bread — 
 [Checking herself.] Shall you ask Ida again? 
 
 Ends. I couldn't to-day. [with a change of 
 voice] the sight of you always pulls the strings of 
 everything that is strongest in me. 
 
 [He stoops suddenly and hisses her hand 
 which is resting on the back of the 
 seai, his face is three-quarters towards 
 garden, hers turned away from it. 
 [Robert appears from garden right; the 
 two men look at each other for one 
 second and Robert retreats. A min- 
 ute later his voice is heard as if ad- 
 vancing. 
 Robert. All right, Sir James, Endsleigh is 
 here. 
 
 [Julia rises quickly, goes towards house, 
 
 hut stops as Sir James appears. She 
 
 and Endsleigh stand facing him from 
 
 different points. 
 
 Sir J. [Looking from one to the other.} Eh 
 
 — interrupted a talk? 
 
 Ends. [Rather stiffly.] Lady Caxton and I 
 are old, old friends. 
 
 Sir J. I am aware of it. Sorry to be in 
 the way, but 
 
182 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Julia. [Haughtily.] You needn't apologise 
 — we had finished what we had to say. 
 
 Enter Lord B. from the garden, evidently hur- 
 ried. 
 Lord B. Oh, there you are, Endsleigh. You 
 have only ten minutes — barely that, unless you 
 stay till to-morrow? 
 
 Ends. I fear not. Where are the young 
 ladies? I want to say good-bye to them. 
 
 Lord B. [Looking round.] I thought they 
 were here. But there's no time — I am going with 
 you to the station. [To Robert.] Come too? 
 
 [Robert hesitates. 
 Ends. Yes do, Vallide. 
 Robert. I will, if you wish it. 
 Ends. Good-bye, Lady Caxton. I don't know 
 if we shall meet again before I go back to 
 
 India. But if I am in London 
 
 Sir J. [Firmly.] We shall probably be away. 
 Julia. [To Endsleigh.] And you will have 
 a great deal to do. 
 
 Lord B. Come — come — you'll lose that train. 
 It's nearer by the garden. 
 
 [Turns towards extreme left. 
 Julia. Good-bye. 
 
 [Shakes hands with Endsleigh and turns 
 
 away. 
 [Exeunt Robert, Lord B., and Endsleigh 
 by garden. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 183 
 
 [Julia and Sir James alone. 
 Sir J. What were you talking to Endsleigh 
 about ? 
 
 Julia. [Defiantly.] I shall not tell you. 
 Sir J. Oh! — well, I can take care of my 
 
 own- 
 
 JuLiA. [Bitterly.] Take care of your own? 
 You mean that you are always watching me — 
 listening — spying upon me. 
 
 Sir J. That's rather a strong word. 
 
 Julia. Yes, too strong, perhaps, but you seem 
 to be always suspecting me — and the everlasting 
 togetherness of marriage, as you interpret it, is 
 terrible. 
 
 Sir J. What do you mean.f* 
 
 Julia. I mean that I want to be free, to be 
 trusted, not to be perpetually stalked. 
 Can't you understand that every human being 
 longs to be alone sometimes. Oh, the luxury of 
 it! 
 
 Sir J. You weren't alone just now. 
 
 Julia. That has nothing to do with it. [Soft- 
 ening.] I don't mean to be brutal, but I am dis- 
 tracted — go away now, James. [Holding out her 
 hand, half entreating.] Let me be by myself. 
 [Turns towards house and half hesitates, then 
 goes back towards middle of stage.] And I want 
 to go back to England, I can't bear this any 
 longer 
 
184 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Sir J. I'll take you back to-morrow. 
 Julia. Take me back — oh, of course! Go in 
 and leave me — now at any rate. 
 
 [He turns towards the house, and stops as 
 Lady S. hobbles out on to the loggia, 
 making business with her stick, 8^c. 
 Sir J. helps to seat her in her chair, 
 gives a sort of grunt, looks back at 
 Julia, then exit. 
 Lady S. Thank you. 
 
 [Julia, standing in the middle of the 
 stage, looks in the direction Endsleigh 
 has gone, and gives a sigh of relief. 
 [Lady S. pretends not to see her for a 
 moment. 
 Enter Servant with a telegram. 
 Servant. [To Lady S.] It's a telegram for 
 Mr. Vallide, my lady. 
 
 Lady S. [Crossly.] Well, you must find him 
 — where is he? 
 
 Julia. [With a start, going towards Lady S.] 
 He has gone to see Colonel Endsleigh off. [To 
 Servant.] He can only be at the turn of the 
 road. [Looking left.] You might run after him, 
 perhaps it's important — then he can answer it 
 from the station. 
 
 [Exit Servant. Julia, with a quick 
 passionate movement, throws herself 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 185 
 
 on her knees beside the chair, and puts 
 her arms round Lady Sarah. 
 
 Julia. Aunt Sarah, I want you, I want you so. 
 
 Lady S. He hasn't been making love to 
 you? 
 
 Julia. No, he never cared, and Aunt Caroline 
 spoke to him — before he went to India. 
 
 Lady S. I knew she had 
 
 Julia. He told a girl on board the boat about 
 me, and fell in love with her. He has been in- 
 fatuated with her more or less all his life till 
 lately. With her — not with me — ^with her. [-4 
 sort of hysterical laugh."] Oh, Aunt Sarah, what 
 fools women are, and yet he was good and hon- 
 est — at least that. 
 
 Lady S. I have no patience with good men, 
 they are always stupid. My dear — [soothing 
 Julia] — I knew she'd spoken to him that night; 
 he was a young idiot. [Pause. 
 
 Julia. [In a rvhisper.] I'm frightened for 
 May. 
 
 Lady S. For May? 
 
 Julia. It may be the same story over again. 
 
 Lady S. [Stifling a twinge of gout which 
 makes her wince.] What do you mean? 
 
 Julia. She has been falling in love with Mr. 
 Vallide; I've seen it, and Evelyn would never 
 hear of it, you know 
 
186 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Lady S. Never! 
 Julia. Besides 
 
 Lady S. Besides what? 
 
 Julia. There's some one else — he told Ida 
 about her — some one he has thought of all his 
 life. 
 
 Lady S. [Thoughtfully. ~\ I believe he cares 
 for May — I saw his face — I am old, but I know 
 the signs. 
 
 Julia. It may be just the glamour of Italy 
 and the Spring, as it was the glamour of the 
 river and the walled garden at Hampden Court 
 that I mistook. Frank didn't care — and look at 
 Geoff, he thought he cared about May, for years 
 — and now this American girl. 
 
 Lady S. Young men ought to be hanged, in 
 rows. As for May, as you say, her mother would 
 never hear of it. The young man might as well 
 care for the moon, as far as she is concerned. 
 
 [Ida and May appear from end of gar- 
 den on r. 
 Julia. Hush, here she is. 
 
 [Julia stands up quickly in the shadow 
 under the loggia by Lady S.*s chair 
 with her hack to the house. Ida goes 
 forward towards loggia. May remains 
 in centre of stage, looking up at the 
 ruined church on the mountain. Then 
 sits, R. The twilight deepens. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 187 
 
 Ida. [To Julia, laughing.] They*ve gone, 
 haven't they? I didn't want to say good-bye to 
 Colonel Endsleigh. 
 
 Lady S. [Sharply.] Oh — why not, pray? 
 
 Julia. Why not? 
 
 Ida. [In a low tone to Julia.] If dumb 
 men can't talk, they can sometimes write. I've 
 had a letter from one this evening. 
 
 May. Isn't it splendid that they light up the 
 church to-night? Mr. Vallide will see it. 
 
 Julia. [Going towards her.] The Princess 
 lighted it up, and waited for her lover; but he 
 never came. 
 
 May. [Dreamily.] Perhaps their spirits are 
 stealing back to it now, through and through the 
 shadows 
 
 Julia. What does it matter? They are not 
 human any more. 
 
 [Lord B. appears at door of loggia evi- 
 dently rather excited, and speaking 
 presumably to a servant behind him. 
 
 Lord B. Send them all on at once. [To every 
 one.] I've got some news for you. 
 
 Ida. News ! 
 
 Lord B. Vallide has gone. Had a telegram 
 just as we started. 
 
 May. [Getting up quickly.] Gone! 
 
 Lord B. Gone on with Endsleigh to catch 
 the express for Rome. Uncle there down with 
 
188 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 fever — wants his nephew to take him back to 
 Canada — sails from Genoa early next week. 
 
 May. To Canada? 
 
 Lord B. It's the deuce. Vallide feels he 
 ought to go. I was to tell you, and say good-bye 
 to you all. The worst of it is that he has no 
 idea when he will be back. The uncle may be ill 
 for a long time, and keep him over there. I'd 
 made all sorts of plans with him for next week 
 in London — very tiresome. 
 
 Lady S. {^Drops her stich; he picks it up and 
 gives it to her."] Humph! 
 
 May. To Canada! 
 
 Lord B. Awkward, isn't it? You see \To 
 
 Lady S.] if he goes What is it, another 
 
 twinge? [^Arranges her cushions, ^c. 
 
 Julia [Going closer to May.] Did he tell 
 you he loved you? 
 
 May. {In a whisper."] No — ^but he does. I 
 know he does. 
 
 Julia. There is some one else? 
 
 May. No! there is no one else. ... I 
 can't believe that he is gone 
 
 Julia. {Almost in a rvhisper.] He'll never 
 come back. It is always the same story. He 
 will never, never come back. 
 
 Lady S. [To Lord B.] What did he say? 
 Was he upset? 
 
 Lord B. Yes, a good deal, but — I say! Look 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 189 
 
 at the ruin! [They all look up at the ruined 
 church on the mountain, which is illuminated.'] 
 Pity Vallide isn't here. He spoke of it the last 
 thing. He wanted to see it. 
 
 May. [Almost staggering.] The Princess's 
 lover never savr it — he never saw it lighted up. 
 
 Julia. He never came back. [Soft music] 
 Listen. They are chanting a ghostly mass — 
 a mass for the dead. [A soft mass is heard in 
 the distance — very faintly. Whispers.] He 
 never came back ! 
 
 May. Julia! [Staggers towards seat.] 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT IV 
 
 Time. — Three weeks later. 
 
 Scene. — A sitting-room in Mrs. Murison's house 
 on Campden Hill. A pretty room with 
 chintzes, S^c, {obviously on first not ground- 
 floor), fireplace r., with door same side lower 
 down. Door l.: At the back facing the stage 
 two mullioned windows, square paned and 
 pretty. When open they show trees in blos- 
 som in the garden, laburnums, 8^c., between 
 the windows there is a little white bookshelf. 
 
 When the Curtain draws up Mrs. Murison, Lord 
 Barnstaple, and Lady Sarah Stratton are 
 discovered. 
 
 Lord B. [Looking round.'] I think you've 
 done very well, Evelyn. It's an extremely pleas- 
 ant house. 
 
 Mrs. M. This is May's own little sitting-room. 
 
 Lady S. When she is married it will do for 
 Dora — Edward, we ought to go. 
 
 Mrs. M. Won't you wait and see Julia ? She'll 
 be down directly. James is coming for her at 
 half-past three. 
 
 Lord B. I am glad to hear it. I don't know 
 191 
 
192 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 what happened between them at Alassio — [To 
 Mrs. M.] Do you? 
 
 Lady S. I can tell you, my dear Edward, 
 Julia wanted to get rid of him for a fortnight. 
 All women want to get rid of men sometimes — 
 but we can't make them believe it. 
 
 Lord B. She could have stayed quietly in 
 Eaton Square, he hasn't been in London. 
 
 Lady S. But she wanted to get away not only 
 from James Caxton, but from everything that 
 was his — to think out things and set her life 
 straight. 
 
 Lord B. Well, I give it up — something went 
 wrong, Julia insisted on bringing May back to 
 her mother — pretended she wanted her. Cax- 
 ton came as far as Dover with them, then went 
 off to Fieldborough and sulked. 
 
 Mrs. M. He has written to her — they are go- 
 ing home together. . . . You've not told me 
 anything about Ida — and Frank Endsleigh. 
 
 Lady S. He has gone to Sicily — till he goes 
 back to India. 
 
 Lord B, There's no idea of anything between 
 them. He's too old. Teddy Haston is always 
 about the house now — the youth has merit. 
 
 Mrs. M. His people are extremely nice. [To 
 Lord B.] You will be very lonely if she marries 
 too. Uncle Edward. 
 
 Lord B. Well — no doubt we shall see a great 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 193 
 
 deal of Geoff and his American young lady — 
 who has charming manners. 
 
 Lady S. But her mother is tiresome — I knew 
 she would be. 
 
 Lord B. She'll go back to America; and the 
 turbulence of the Atlantic settles many difficulties. 
 
 Lady S. The girl's pretty 
 
 Mrs. M. I hear she's lovely. 
 
 Lord B. Well, you'll be able to judge for 
 yourself this afternoon. They are coming to see 
 you — but he told me to say he was afraid they 
 could not get here till half -past five. 
 Enter May. 
 
 May. Julia will be down in ten minutes 
 
 Lord B. I don't think we can wait. 
 We like your new house. May 
 
 May. And my little sitting-room — [Loohing 
 round. 
 
 Lord B. It's charming, my dear. But {look- 
 ing at her] you don't look as well as you did at 
 Alassio — how's that.'' 
 
 May. It's only London. [Goes over to the 
 book-shelf between the rvindon^s.^ Italy is an 
 enchanted land 
 
 Mrs. M. She has been so quiet since she came 
 back. 
 
 May. Do you like my book-shelf. Aunt Sarah? 
 
 Lady S. Book-shelf.^ Oh, yes, I notice that 
 that is one of the modern affectations. Girls must 
 
194 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 have little book-shelves now — painted white — full 
 of little books, nicely bound. 
 
 May. \_Laughing.] Modern poets — precious 
 essays — pocket editions of the classics, and some- 
 times we read them. [With a twinkle in her 
 
 Lord B. My dear, you are growing cynical. 
 [Looks at her curiouslyS\ Have you heard from 
 Vallide? 
 
 Mrs. M. Why should May hear from Mr. Val- 
 lide.? 
 
 Lord B. I should say it's not unlikely — they 
 were great friends. 
 
 May. Do you know where he is, Uncle Ed- 
 ward .f* — Is he coming back from Canada? 
 
 Lord B. He hasn't gone to Canada. His 
 uncle is much better and sailed two days ago. 
 Vallide arrived in London this morning. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Pleasantly. '] Who is this Mr. Vallide? 
 
 Lord B. The new candidate for Fieldborough ; 
 we all liked him very much at Alassio. 
 
 Lady S. I understand that he'll be Prime Min- 
 ister some day. 
 
 Lord B. He's very well thought of, I can 
 tell you 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, but who is he? 
 
 Lord B. He is the nephew of a man I met in 
 Canada — ^who did a great deal for education — 
 and designed a few railways — a millionaire of 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 195 
 
 course — the young man came over here and was 
 my private secretary when I was in office. 
 
 Lady S. He's an Englishman — but we don't 
 know who his people are — or whether he has 
 any 
 
 Mrs. M. I see — pushing himself to the front 
 with the help of his uncle's money — and careful 
 to say nothing about his antecedents like those 
 people at Montreux 
 
 May. Mother, you mustn't say that! You 
 can't think how delightful he is — how simple — 
 and clever — and well-bred 
 
 Mrs. M. May! [Surprised and as if she sud- 
 denly suspected,] 
 
 Lady S. [To May.] I told you your mother's 
 neck was stiff. 
 
 Mrs. M. Think of the vulgarity of wealth in 
 these days. 
 
 Lady S. Not at all. Think of the comfort of 
 it. The vulgarity of many people who possess it 
 is unfortunate of course 
 
 Mrs. M. All the money seems to go to the lower 
 class now, it pushes them in everywhere. 
 
 Lord B. That's true — but the Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer will tone things down — give him 
 time, he doesn't need very much. 
 
 Lady S. Meanwhile we are expected to invite 
 the postman to dinner and the sweep and his wife 
 for a week-end. But you needn't agitate yourself. 
 
196 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 my dear, there will always be a difference of 
 class, though the fences are broken that used to 
 separate them. 
 
 Mrs. M. [To Lord B.] Is this Mr. Vallide an 
 educated man — I suppose he is as he was your 
 secretary ? 
 
 Lord B. [(jrudgingly but with conviction.] 
 He's a man we shall all be proud to know some 
 day. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Uneasily.] I dislike new people — I 
 can't help it. 
 
 Lady S. They make an excellent variety show. 
 
 May. Oh, don't say that, dear Aunt Sarah. 
 The race started fair, with everybody equal. But 
 some had the best instincts, and made for the 
 right things, and kept them and were nourished 
 on them — and others had to take what was left. 
 I suppose that's how the difference of class came 
 about. And though the difference will always ex- 
 ist there must be new people added to the best, 
 or the best will die out. I haven't expressed it 
 very well — but, perhaps you know what I mean. 
 The oldest, grandest house has to be propped up 
 with new material, and once it was a new house 
 too 
 
 Lord B. May ! I didn't know that you thought 
 about these things — you are quite eloquent. 
 
 May. Every one thinks. 
 
 Lord B. I wish they did, my dear, the world 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 197 
 
 would be better and less of a beer-garden. Come, 
 Sarah, we won't wait for Julia. 
 
 Lady S. [Going.] We shall all meet in Bru- 
 ton Street to-night. 
 
 Lord B. [To May.] I won't tell Vallide what 
 you said about him, it might turn his head. 
 
 Mrs. M. [To Lady S.] Good-bye, Aunt Sarah. 
 [Mrs. Murison rings the bell, they all go 
 towards the door. 
 Lord B. [Looking back at May.] A very nice 
 room indeed, my dear, good-bye. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady S. and Lord B. 
 [Mrs. Murison and May return into the 
 room. May stands by her bookshelf. 
 Mrs. Murison by the fireplace. 
 May. [After a pause.] I wish we had some 
 flowers, mother — Geojff and Miss Pippin are com- 
 ing — ^the drawing-room is very bare. 
 
 [Goes to piano and begins to play. 
 
 Mrs. M. I'm afraid we can't send for any now. 
 
 [Business.] What is that tune you are always 
 
 playing 
 
 May. " The Distant Shore." 
 
 Enter Servant, with a note on tray, gives 
 it to Mrs. Murison. 
 
 [Ea;it Servant. 
 Mrs. M. [Opens the note, looks at signature, 
 says to herself]. Robert Vallide! 
 
 [Reads it and stands silently thinking. 
 
198 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 [May still playing very softly. — Pause. 
 
 Mrs. M. May, did you like this Mr. Vallide? 
 
 May. [Gets up from the piano and stands by 
 the book-case again looking at Mrs. M.] Yes, 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs. M. Uncle Edward seems to think a great 
 deal of him. 
 
 May. Every one thinks a great deal of him. 
 
 Mrs. M. Did you like him — very much? [Ten- 
 derly.] Won't you tell me, darling? 
 
 May. [Passionately.] How can I after what 
 you said. [Change of manner.] Oh, but you've 
 always been such a dear mother, why shouldn't I 
 tell you — I never met any one like him. I don't 
 believe there is any one like him in the world. 
 
 Mrs. M. Do you think he cares for you? 
 
 May. Yes. [Then doubtfully.] I thought 
 he did — but he hasn't written — he hasn't done 
 anything. I think I know the reason of — of 
 
 Mrs. M. Of what? 
 
 May. Of his not speaking — but I thought he 
 would have written — I've been miserable this last 
 week. But I know he cares — and I can't tell 
 you what he is — he isn't like any one else I have 
 ever met. Ida said before he came that he had 
 the new-world vigour and the old-world charm 
 — he has — and he's so straight, so clever — I can't 
 think why he should hold back. . . . Why he 
 didn't tell me [Pause. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 199 
 
 Mrs. M. Suppose you go for some flowers. 
 [Evidently this is a sudden thought.'] Wilson 
 can go with you in a taxi — to Solomon's 
 
 May. It would take so long — he arrived in 
 England to-day uncle Edward said — if he 
 came 
 
 Mrs. M. It's too early yet, you will be back. 
 Why didn't you tell me before? You have hardly 
 mentioned his name. 
 
 May. I couldn't. Mother, what a dear you 
 are. . . . He said he was coming to England 
 on his life's quest — that at the end of twenty- 
 four hours he would know ... I can't think 
 what he meant. And yet I feel that it had to 
 do with me. ... I think that — that — he isn't 
 anybody — in the sense that is so much to you. 
 He is just a new man; but there are great things 
 before him — he is going to do them — to do them 
 himself. Isn't it much better than if they were 
 all behind — and the honours had been won al- 
 ready by his ancestors — and he did nothing — 
 better than if he were living on the reward of 
 deeds done long ago by others? 
 
 Mrs. M. Why, May! 
 
 May. I know it's going to be very difficult 
 for you, darling — at least I think it is — if he 
 comes. If he does, I want you to remember that 
 — that my happiness is at stake, that — ^that — I 
 love him — I wouldn't own it to any one in the 
 
200 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 wide world but you — and to him if he should 
 ever ask me. Oh^ mother, dear 
 
 Mrs. M. [^Tenderly and surprised J\ My dar- 
 ling, you must trust me . . . There's the bell ! 
 It is Sir James, I expect . . . The drive will 
 do you good. Go and bring back some flowers 
 — and green boughs to deck your room — ^tell Wil- 
 son I said she was to go with you. 
 
 [Exit May quickly l. 
 [Servant announces'] 
 
 Servant. Sir James Caxton! 
 Enter Sir James. 
 
 Sir J. How d'ye do? 
 
 Mrs. M. Julia will be here directly, she's 
 quite ready. 
 
 Sir J. Oh! [Loohing round.] Nice house 
 — cheerful. 
 
 Mrs. M. So glad you like it. You've been 
 at Fieldborough ? 
 
 Sir J. At Fieldborough — shan't be there much 
 more. You know that? 
 
 Mrs. M. What do you think of your probable 
 successor? 
 
 Sir J. What, Vallide? Decent chap. Very 
 decent chap, indeed. 
 
 Mrs. M. You liked him? 
 
 Sir J. Yes; piece of luck for Fieldborough 
 if they get him. 
 
 Mrs. M. O— o— h! [Thoughtfully.] And 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 201 
 
 you thought — But here is Julia — and I didn't 
 give May a cab fare. 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 Julia. [To Sir J.] I heard you come. 
 
 [Ejcit Mrs. Murison. 
 [Sir James and Julia alone. 
 
 Sir J. [To Julia.] Well— better? 
 
 [Holds out his hand. 
 
 Julia. Much better. And you? 
 
 Sir J. Pretty well. Ready to come home? 
 
 Julia. Yes, if you want me. 
 
 Sir J. You can do as you like. It's dull 
 alone, but it's dull anyway. I've never got 
 much out of it — I thought I should — but I 
 didn't. 
 
 Julia. What do you mean? 
 
 Sir J. I don't know. Look here, Julia, you 
 never pretended to care much about me — I'm 
 old — and ugly — and dull, I suppose, but I want 
 to know the truth. Was Endsleigh making love 
 to you? Vallide slipped back to give you warn- 
 ing, but I saw you through the trees. He was 
 the chap you were breaking your heart about 
 when you were a girl. No one told me his name, 
 but I knew. 
 
 Julia. Yes, it was Frank Endsleigh. 
 
 Sir J. And it's because of him that you have 
 always kept me at arm's length — given me my 
 due to the letter, but nothing else. 
 
202 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Julia. [Half tragic.^ But nothing else, Jim, 
 nothing else. I prided myself on playing fair, 
 but I haven't done so. 
 
 Sir J. lSuspiciousli/.'\ Eh? What? 
 
 Julia. In my heart, I mean. Outwardly I 
 did — absolutely. I was talked into marrying you; 
 but I never pretended to care. I know how 
 good youVe been to me, how many things you've 
 given me ... I counted my bangles only 
 yesterday — wasn't it silly — with all the different 
 stones, and looked at the sable cloak you gave 
 me on my birthday last year. You always tried 
 to win me with money and goods and chattels. 
 
 Sir J. Women generally like them. I was 
 too old to make love. Besides, I thought you 
 cared for the other chap 
 
 Julia. I did — all the years that I have been 
 married to you — I never wrote — or sent a mes- 
 sage — ^but at the bottom of my heart, at the back 
 of my head, there he lived, and I thought he 
 cared for me — that his life was just waiting — 
 waiting 
 
 Sir J. For me to die? 
 
 Julia. [Quickly.'] No, for some indefinite 
 time when we should justify ourselves to each 
 other and then go our separate ways. He only 
 came back from India five months ago — why 
 didn't you let me speak with him? 
 
 Sir J. I knew he was the man. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 203 
 
 Julia. Ten minutes talk would have cleared 
 everything away. But I never had it till that 
 day at Alassio. 
 
 Sir J. What did he say for himself? 
 
 Julia. [With a half-tragic, half-scornful 
 laugh.] He told me about a woman he had met 
 on board the boat, and how he had loved her all 
 his life. Her — not me! The whole thing has 
 been a myth — a mistake, a farce. I've wasted 
 all the good years of my life on a dream. 
 
 Sir J. So have I. 
 
 Julia. You ! 
 
 Sir J. Well, I never thought about anything 
 but you, or wanted anything else 
 
 Julia. [Almost pathetic] Why didn't you 
 say so.^ You always grunted and hung about 
 and said nothing. 
 
 Sir J. I thought you knew. 
 
 Julia. Perhaps I did — but there are some 
 things one doesn't choose to know — won't know 
 — ^till they're put into words; and gifts are no 
 good. 
 
 Sir J. I thought they'd make you come round 
 — I've had a bad time — but you didn't know 
 that. 
 
 Julia. It has ended. And — there was noth- 
 ing — nothing said at Alassio to make you un- 
 happy. He kissed my hand and explained about 
 the other woman. That was all. 
 
204 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Sir J. Why did you insist on coming to stay 
 with Evelyn? 
 
 Julia. Because the house had tumbled down 
 in which for years I had put all my dreams. I 
 wanted to be alone to think over its ruin. Every 
 human being wants to be alone sometimes 
 
 Sir J. [Bitterly.] And the everlasting to- 
 getherness of marriage is so terrible. 
 
 Julia. \_He is standing hy her; she is sitting 
 down on the sofa.] Oh, Jim, dear — forgive me 
 — ^it shall be better. I am glad we are together. 
 
 [Kisses his hand. 
 
 Sir J. Don't do that — I can't bear it. Per- 
 haps it's too late; but we have a fair field at last. 
 
 Julia. It's not too late — it shan't be too late 
 — I have been a fool. 
 
 [Putting her cheek against his hand. 
 
 Sir J. Of course, that's why I'm one 
 
 Julia. Why are you one.'' 
 
 Sir J. [Tenderly.] There is nothing like a 
 woman who is a fool for getting at you — and 
 making you another. 
 
 Julia. Oh, Jim! 
 
 Sir J. But it hasn't been much of a show 
 for either of us. 
 
 Julia. [Gets up.] Let us go home — this very 
 minute. Where's Evelyn? [Goes to door on r.] 
 Evelyn. [Calling.] We are going. [To Sir J.] 
 Is the carriage here? 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 205 
 
 Sir J. Yes — and there's a new rug in it — 
 black bearskin. 
 
 Julia. Oh, you! [Laughing, and going to- 
 wards the door — turns hack and kisses him.] I 
 must go and get ready. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Murison. 
 
 Julia. Couldn't you show him the drawing- 
 room, Evelyn? [To him.] It's such a nice house, 
 and a garden. . . . Did you see the labur- 
 nums and the lilacs? [Goes to the windows at 
 back of stage, pushes open the casement a little 
 way, then draws hack, and says] Mr. Vallide 
 is just coming in at the gate — he didn't see 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Quickly. Rings.] Wait 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Mrs. M. [To Servant.] Show the gentle- 
 man who is at the front door into the drawing- 
 room. [Turns and looks at Sir James and Julia, 
 ohviously agitated, hut trying to conceal it.] I 
 didn't think he would come so early. 
 
 Julia. You knew he was coming? 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes — I knew. 
 
 Sir J. Is that why you asked me about him? 
 
 Mrs. M. He sent me a note just now — ask- 
 ing me to see him alone. 
 
 Julia. I believe he has come to 
 
 Mrs. M. [With a thrill of dismay.] You 
 mean? 
 
206 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Julia. Yes — ^yes — for May. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Ruefully, and evidently Tcnowing 
 what is before her.] I don't want to give her 
 up — it was different with Geoff; that was a thing 
 that had grown — besides he was one of us. I 
 want to keep her a little longer. 
 
 Julia. But if they love each other? 
 
 Sir J. [With conviction.'] I believe he's a 
 good chap. 
 
 Mrs. M. But I don't want it to be Mr. Vallide 
 — and yet if she cares 
 
 Julia. Let him have her — her young lover — 
 her first lover — ^nothing else will ever be the 
 same. Oh^ Jim, forgive me. [Quickly.] I didn't 
 mean to hurt you; but youth only comes once 
 
 Mrs. M. [To Sir J.] You like him, you like 
 him? 
 
 Sir J. Have said so already, excellent chap, 
 — fond of May — certain of it — a millionaire, or 
 uncle a millionaire — same thing. 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, I hate money — I mean when 
 the wrong people have it. 
 
 Sir J. He's the right person — ^he'll know what 
 to do with it — was at Balliol — Fellow of his Col- 
 lege — probably a prig when he left it — what more 
 do you want? 
 
 Mrs. M. It's a great deal, but — I must go to 
 him. 
 
 Julia. See him here, Evelyn — in May's room. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 207 
 
 Mrs. M. [Helplessly.] She is all the world 
 to me. 
 
 Julia. [Who has gone towards the door with 
 Sir J.] I know. . . . [Gratefully.] Thank 
 you for everything you have been to me. We'll 
 go. 
 
 Sir J. [Hesitating.] Vallide is a good chap 
 — he'll do more than any of m*. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir James and Julia. 
 [Mrs. Murison alone, makes business for 
 a minute — rings. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Mrs. M. Ask Mr. Vallide if he will come 
 here. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Pause. Re-enter Servant. 
 Servant. Mr. Vallide. 
 
 Enter Robert. 
 Mrs. M. How do you do? 
 [ShaJces hands — her manner is quite courteous, 
 but cold. 
 
 Robert. You don't know me, but 
 
 Mrs. M. But I have heard of you. You were 
 in Alassio the other day — Lord Barnstaple and 
 Lady Sarah were here just now. 
 
 Robert. Oh 
 
 Mrs. M. Won't you sit down? I think you 
 left before they did? 
 
 Robert. I was hurrying back to London 
 
208 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 Mrs. M. But you have been in Rome since? 
 
 Robert. I had to go there suddenly, but I 
 wanted to come back to England — it's so difficult 
 to explain though I have come to do that. 
 
 Mrs. M. I don't understand. [Then quickly, 
 as if anxious to avoid explanation.'] You have 
 known Lord Barnstaple a long time, I think? 
 
 Robert. A long time. In Canada first 
 
 Mrs. M. And afterwards you were his pri- 
 vate secretary, he told me to-day. 
 
 Robert. For two or three months only 
 
 Mrs. M. [Hurriedly.'] It was unlucky the 
 Government went out so soon. And now you 
 are going to put up for Fieldborough ? Sir James 
 Caxton has been its member for eighteen years. 
 He was here, too, just now; he thinks you are 
 sure to succeed him. 
 
 Robert. Perhaps — I don't know. It depends 
 — on — ^the matter that has brought me here. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Beginning to face it.] On the mat- 
 ter that has brought you here? 
 
 Robert. At Alassio I met so many of your 
 relations 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, yes. Lady Sarah Stratton, she 
 is my Aunt — ^the Caxtons — and my daughter, of 
 course. 
 
 Robert. And your daughter — is she back? 
 She was going to Paris. 
 
 Mrs. M. Lady Caxton brought her home — 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 209 
 
 sooner than was intended — the day after you 
 left, I think 
 
 Robert. And she is here? 
 
 Mrs. M. She is here; but she is out just now. 
 
 \_Hesitating.] She didn't know that you were 
 
 coming. ... I thought I should prefer to 
 
 see you alone — you said you wanted to see me. 
 
 [Evidently feeling bound to come to a point. 
 
 Robert. Yes, it is you that I have come to 
 see. It was to see you* that I was hurrying to 
 England, but the night before I was to start 
 a telegram came, saying that my uncle was down 
 with fever 
 
 Mrs. M. And naturally you went to him. 
 
 Robert. As soon as he was better we went 
 to Genoa. His ship sailed from there for Can- 
 ada. I watched it out of sight two days ago, 
 then took the next train for England. Does all 
 this say^ anything to you — But it's impossibly 
 that you should remember me. 
 
 Mrs. M. Remember you? Have we met be- 
 fore? 
 
 Robert. Yes — we have met before — ^that is 
 why I have come — why I held back at Alassio 
 
 Mrs. M. I don't understand. 
 
 Robert. Do you remember Thomas 
 
 Mrs. M. Thomas? 
 
 Robert. Thomas Lobb? 
 
 Mrs. M. [Looking at him.] Oh, yes, of course 
 
210 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 — the little boy who went to Canada. Do you 
 know anything about him or — do you know him? 
 I should like to hear of him again. 
 
 Robert. I am Thomas. 
 
 Mrs. M. You! Oh no 
 
 Robert. It is so — I am Thomas. 
 
 Mrs. M. It's too extraordinary! . . . You 
 went to Canada — your uncle sent for you. 
 
 Robert. But I came back after two years. 
 
 Mrs. M, We were abroad 
 
 Robert. I know. I used to walk by the empty 
 house^ and look up at the window, closed and 
 dusty, through which I had heard May's voice 
 for the last time — [Mrs. M. gives a little back- 
 ward movement as he says May's Christian name, 
 and he corrects himself cynically.'] — your daugh- 
 ter's voice. ... I didn't know where you had 
 gone. I rang the bell and asked the caretaker 
 once; but she could only tell me that you were 
 in Switzerland. 
 
 Mrs. M. [A shade patronising, and just a 
 little haughtily.] 1 wish you had written, I 
 should have been so — interested. 
 
 Robert. I didn't want you to know anything 
 about me. I wanted to see you, but without your 
 seeing me. 
 
 Mrs. M. Why shouldn't you want us to see 
 you? 
 
 Robert. Because I had learnt even then that 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 211 
 
 I couldn't meet you on the old footing, and 1 
 knew that you would not receive me on any 
 other — there were stretches and gulfs between 
 us. 
 
 Mrs. M. You shouldn't say that. 
 
 Robert. \^Not noticing.] All these years I 
 have been trying to make a bridge across them 
 — not with any definite end in view, but only 
 that I might take some place in the world that 
 was nearer yours. I knew all the prejudices 
 
 Mrs. M. I was born with them 
 
 Robert. Oh yes, I know — forgive me. [Sud- 
 denly.] I have often thought of the day we saw 
 you first — you came into the room where my 
 father sat over he fire warming his hands; you 
 had some flowers, you brought him some more 
 tne night he died, and put them at his feet — 
 I remember just what you looked like — tender 
 and sweet, but very proud; and even that re- 
 membrance has made me feel as if there were 
 mountains not to be crossed. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Again evidently frightened at what 
 she has to face.] Why should they be crossed.'* 
 
 Robert. I didn't know till I saw May com- 
 ing in from the orange garden at Alassio — and 
 loved her — but I've loved her all my life, thought 
 of her, dreamt of her, lived for her. In my 
 thoughts everything has been laid before her, 
 that is why I have come. 
 
212 THOMAS AND THE PHINCESS 
 
 Mrs. M. [Drawing back a little,] I can't 
 discuss it — or listen to any more on this sub- 
 ject. Tell me about your mother — ^where is she? 
 
 Robert. She died five years ago. My uncle 
 sent for her to Canada. She lived a life of 
 ease and tried not to find it dull, [cynically'] and 
 wore dresses to which she had never been accus- 
 tomed and tried not to feel awkward in them. 
 But she was happy enough, thank God. 
 
 Mrs. M. It's all so unbelievable. And Polly? 
 
 Robert. Polly calls herself Mary now — and 
 is married to a sturdy Canadian who owns more 
 territory than he can walk over in a week. 
 
 Mrs. M. And you — you went away Thomas 
 Lobb. Why have you come back Robert Vallide? 
 
 Robert. My second name was Robert and I 
 liked being called by it — it was my father's — • 
 and my uncle is proud of his Cornish name. The 
 Robert Vallides have never been of any conse- 
 quence — fishermen or miners, or engineers — men 
 who were near the earth or the sea and battled 
 with it, but they can be counted a long way back 
 — he didn't want the name to die out. 
 
 Mrs. M. And you — ^what happened to you 
 when you first went out? 
 
 Robert. I was sent to a school-marm for a 
 couple of years, then back to England with a 
 tutor. When I was licked into shape, and had 
 travelled a little, I went to Oxford. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 213 
 
 Mrs. M. And are you a fellow of your Col- 
 lege? 
 
 Robert. You knew? 
 
 Mrs. M. Lady Caxton told me. 
 
 Robert. Ah ! 
 
 Mrs. M. And then? 
 
 Robert. Then I started out in the world — 
 on my own; various things came my way that 
 lead towards politics. Lord Barnstaple has pro- 
 posed that I should offer myself as a candidate 
 for Fieldborough. 
 
 Mrs. M. It's so bewildering — I can't believe 
 that you are Thomas. 
 
 Robert. But it's true^ it's true. I used to 
 carry out newspapers in the morning, and bring 
 up coals into your drawing-room, and try not to 
 let you see that I found them heavy — I want you 
 to realise all that I was and used to do — you 
 gave my mother a mangle. 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh! [Drawing back again.'] How 
 clever you have been, how good! You will think 
 me — so narrow, so vulgar 
 
 Robert. No, I understand. . . . The last 
 day I was in England while I stood by the door 
 waiting with a telegram, I heard you say that 
 when May grew up you would rather she married 
 a beggar in her own class than a new-made mil- 
 lionaire. . . . I'm not a millionaire — yet at 
 any rate — that at least is an extenuating cir- 
 
214 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 curostance — I know all that you feel about — 
 about — I don't want to say upstarts. [With a 
 weary smile.] 
 
 Mrs. M. I can't help it, I never have been able 
 to stand the new people who come rushing through 
 the world seizing the things of which they've no 
 knowledge and for which they've no reverence 
 — I don't mean this for you, of course — you'll 
 think me full of snobbish prejudices 
 
 Robert. I like them. It's the knowledge that 
 for generations back, one behind the other, your 
 people helped to safeguard the country and did 
 great deeds for the world. But I am just as 
 proud of my sturdy ancestors — my fisher-fathers 
 and thrifty mothers — as you are of knowing that 
 some of yours were Crusaders. Mine worked 
 for their country, too, and gave me the instinct 
 to work — in a different manner from theirs, but 
 with as much determination — and I will, if this 
 day goes well with me. 
 
 Mrs. M. Your mother must have looked so 
 different. [Evidently trying to make time.] 
 
 Robert. She used to think herself a great 
 lady, and was counted one in the colonies. She 
 would never let me remember the old days, Mary 
 quarrels with me if I even mention them, and 
 wouldn't come to England for the world, lest 
 any one she knew once — ^there isn't a soul to do 
 it — should remember her. 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 215 
 
 Mrs. M. [Looking at him, dazed.] I can't 
 believe it, even now. [Pause. 
 
 Robert. [A little desperately.] Do you re- 
 member the day I wished you good-bye — a little 
 lad going off alone to the other side of the world 
 — without a penny save the present you had given 
 me. You kissed me, just as if I had been your 
 own son — this last three weeks I have dreamed 
 that perhaps I should be. If she cares for me, 
 won't you let it come true? I love her — 
 I love her — and I think she loves me back 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. M. I can't 
 
 Robert. Is it such a crime to have been poor 
 — to have worked 
 
 Mrs. M. No, no, it's wonderful. Oh, what 
 can I say? I want to be different — if it had 
 only been 
 
 Robert. [With an odd smile.] If it had only 
 been some one else's shoes I blacked. 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, somehow it would seem quite 
 different. 
 
 Robert. Or any one else's daughter that I 
 wanted to marry 
 
 Mrs. M. I know — I know. I should laugh 
 at the objections — it's only experience that 
 teaches. You didn't speak to her or tell her this? 
 She doesn't know 
 
 Robert. That I love her — she must know it. 
 
216 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 though I didn't put it into actual words, I 
 wouldn't till I'd seen you. 
 
 Mrs. M. That was like you. {^Looking up at 
 him.] Some men would have taken advantage 
 — would have tried to win her without any scru- 
 ple. 
 
 Robert. A man has a right to try and win 
 the woman he loves if they are both free and 
 he knows he can make the way smooth for her, 
 but this is different — I couldn't win her against 
 your will, I remember all you were, all you did, 
 too well; and if you say it mustn't be I will go 
 away and never see her again. I will make it 
 my burnt sacrifice to your goodness in past years. 
 But I am a man, strong and well — and ready to 
 work. I love her — and will win all things for 
 her — I think I could reach down the stars if 
 she would take them from me. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Evidently struggling.] I can feel 
 how much you care for her. It wrings my heart 
 — I feel as if I'd no right^ — ^but I can't 
 
 Robert. [Following up his opportunity.] Why 
 not? Let me speeik to her — give me my great 
 chance of happiness — I will make a career worthy 
 of her. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Hesitates.] What can I say? Oh, 
 what can I do? 
 
 Robert. Does it matter so much that once we 
 were starving and that 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 217 
 
 Mrs. M. No — no. Kings have starved before 
 now. 
 
 Robert. And beggars have been kings. And 
 a king might black the shoes of a whole nation, 
 but he would still be a king — why should it make 
 so much difference to the beggar 
 
 Mrs. M. You must think me hateful 
 
 Robert. No 
 
 Mrs. M. You must — I feel myself so and 
 yet 
 
 Robert. I think you proud and dear and 
 sweet — as I have always thought you 
 
 Mrs. M. [Turning suddenly.] I will be — 
 I will be. 
 
 Robert. You will give me my great chance — 
 you will trust me.'* 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes — I will do it. 
 
 Robert. I may see her — speak to her 
 
 Mrs. M. [Hardly able to speak.] Yes — you 
 shall speak to her. She shall decide. 
 
 Robert. I shall never be good enough for her 
 — never. And perhaps it is all a mistake and 
 she doesn't care. Yet I have dared to hope — 
 do you think — do you know — if there is hope 
 for me? 
 
 Mrs. M. She must tell you that herself. 
 
 [She is still reluctant and wonder- 
 struck. 
 
 Robert. Whichever way it goes, she is the 
 
218 THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 
 
 meaning of life to me. [Crosses to her.] Wish 
 me luck when I ask her if she loves me. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Quickly.'] I heard the gate 
 click . . . 
 
 [She goes to the window, opens it, stands 
 looking out for a moment, as in First 
 Act. 
 May. [Voice heard.] Mother, dear — mother, 
 dear! [Just as in First Act.] 
 
 Mrs. M. [To May.] I want you, dear, some 
 one is here — has come back. 
 
 [Robert stands with his face towards 
 the window. 
 Mrs. M. [To Robert.] She is coming. 
 [Comes from window, goes towards door, turns 
 and puts her hands on his shoulders with real 
 feeling.] If she will — I give her to you — It is 
 in her hands. [Robert lifts her hands and 
 kisses them.] My son, Thomas, I wish you luck. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Murison. 
 [Robert alone for a minute, watching the 
 door, then 
 
 Enter May. 
 [She stops; he goes forward; hut seems 
 for a moment unable to speak. 
 May. I knew it was you — Uncle Edward told 
 me that you had arrived. 
 
 Robert. And you know — you must know why 
 I'm here [Pause.] 
 
THOMAS AND THE PRINCESS 219 
 May. You said there was some obstacle 
 
 Robert. It is swept away — the world is ours 
 if you will ... I couldn't speak to you at 
 Alassio, there was something I had to come to 
 England — to come here and explain 
 
 May. [^Evidently understands now what the 
 obstacle was.^ Ah, I see 
 
 Robert. [Not heeding.^ Something that you 
 don't know, dear. I love you — you must know 
 that I love you — all my heart and life are yours, 
 but there was something else that had to be done 
 — to be told before I could dare to ask if you 
 cared for me — I must tell you what it is before 
 you answer — wait 
 
 May. But I know already. 
 
 Robert. You know? 
 
 May. Yes — that you are Thomas — you be- 
 trayed it that last day of all. 
 
 Robert. Betrayed it.'' 
 
 May. Yes, yes — by the catch of the mouse- 
 cage — when I thought it over, I knew 
 
 Robert. And it makes no difference? 
 
 May. Difference? It makes a world of dif- 
 ference — I shall be so proud of you. 
 
 Robert. My darling! [Tahes her hands and 
 raises his head with a little, happy, triumphant 
 laugh.'\ I've come back. Miss May — I've come 
 back — the Princess's lover has come back! 
 Curtain. 
 
*THE MODERN WAY 
 
 A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 
 
 *Adapted from a story that appeared in an American 
 magazine four years ago. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE 
 
 Lord Gaysford {Freddie; in the Guards) 
 
 DuKB OP Lexham 
 
 Algernon Wake (nephem to Duke, cousin to 
 
 Margaret) 
 Gerald Massington 
 
 Cyril Tremayne ' 
 
 Sir George Silcot 
 Benson, an ex-hutler 
 RucKER, Lady Gaysford's butler 
 Lady Gaysford {mother to Freddie) 
 Hon. Mrs. Massington {sister to Freddie) 
 Lady Silcot 
 Mrs. Merlin 
 Mrs. Calson 
 Jennie {her daughter) 
 Sybil Dolwyn 
 Margaret Wake {niece to Duke) 
 
 Guests, Waiters, etc. 
 
ACT I. 
 
 SCENE: Drawing-room in Grosvenor Place. 
 
 TIME: Afternoon. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE: Conservatory at Warringford House. 
 
 TIME: Same evening. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE: Margaret's sitting-room in Pont Street. 
 
 TIME: Next afternoon. 
 
 The action of the play takes place in truenty-four 
 hours. 
 
ACT I 
 
 Scene. — Drawing-room in Grosvenor Place. Fire 
 place on r,, no fire. Chairs, couch, table, 
 <^c. Exit on L. Wide open windows at 
 bdck of stage, showing balcony with red 
 baize over the balustrade, cloth represent- 
 ing tops of trees in Buckingham Palace 
 Garden over the way. 
 
 Servant on balcony arranging chairs, and mak- 
 ing business about the room. 
 
 Lady Gaysford also moves about the room ar- 
 ranging various details. 
 
 She is middle-aged and distinguished-looking. A 
 little cold in manner, but kind, and devoted 
 to her son. 
 
 Lady G. You needn't put many chairs on the 
 balcony, Rucker; I expect very few people. Put 
 an easy-chair — one or two. 
 
 Rucker. Yes, my lady. 
 
 Lady G. And bring in tea the moment the 
 King and Queen have passed. 
 
 Rucker. Yes, my lady. 
 Enter Gerald and the Hon. Mrs. Massington. 
 225 
 
226 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 She is 27 and fashionable-looking. Her 
 husband is a rather tiresome little man about 
 35j precise in manner. \^Ea;it Rucker. 
 
 Mrs. M. Well, mother. [Kisses her.] We 
 have come. 
 
 Lady G. My dear Rhoda! I'm so glad you 
 managed to get here. 
 
 Rhoda. We were very late last night, and I 
 have had neuralgia all the morning, but I 
 insisted on coming. The streets are decorated, 
 and 
 
 Gerald. An awful crowd 
 
 Rhoda. It was impossible to drive. We 
 pushed our way through, and Gerald grumbled 
 horribly — but he always does, so it doesn't mat- 
 ter. 
 
 Gerald. [Rather disagreeably.] I think I've 
 enough to grumble about. 
 
 Rhoda. How many have you asked? 
 
 Lady G. Not more than half a dozen. I 
 really didn't think of it till this morning. 
 
 Rhoda. Oh ! And that nice red cloth ! [Look- 
 ing towards window.] You might have done 
 something for so many people you don't want 
 at any other time 
 
 Gerald. Who are not lively enough for din- 
 ners, eh? 
 
 Lady G. I have asked Sir George and Lady 
 Silcot, and one or two others, and I sent a note 
 
THE MODERN WAY 227 
 
 round to Mrs. Merlin an hour ago; but perhaps 
 she had gone out, or is afraid to face the crowd. 
 
 Gerald. Merlin? What a silly name. Who 
 is she.^ 
 
 Lady G. You took her in the other night. 
 
 Gerald. Oh, the purring woman, Freddie's 
 platonic friend. 
 
 Lady G. She's very sweet. 
 
 Gerald. Humph! Where does she live? 
 
 Lady G. At Albert Gate. She has a flat. 
 
 Gerald. She would. 
 
 Rhoda. Gerald is horrid to-day. I think she 
 is charming. People say she has an oifer every 
 day in the week and two on Sundays. 
 
 Gerald. What, of flats? 
 
 Rhoda. Why, no — of marriage. 
 
 Gerald. I wouldn't marry her. 
 
 Rhoda. Of course not — you couldn't; it would 
 be bigamy. [To Lady Gaysford.] I don't think 
 she'd mind the Duke. 
 
 Lady G. He'll never marry again. He was 
 much too devoted to his wife. I've asked him 
 this afternoon, and his nephew, Mr. Algernon 
 Wake. 
 
 Rhoda. I thought relations were rather 
 strained between the Duke and Algy. 
 
 Lady G. I never take any notice of that sort 
 of thing. One can't in London. Dear Mr. Wake 
 is rather tiresome sometimes 
 
228 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Gerald. A jackass. 
 
 Rhoda. No_, not exactly a jackass. 
 
 Lady G. But I rather like him. I asked them 
 both on purpose, and shall pretend not to know 
 there is any awkwardness. 
 
 Rhoda. You see, Algy thinks he ought to 
 have an allowance if the Duke is never going to 
 marry again — there's only one other life be- 
 tween. 
 
 » 
 
 Lady G. Yes, Mr. Wake must succeed some 
 day, of course. 
 
 Rhoda. Meanwhile, the Duke thinks Algy 
 ought to marry money — or work. People have 
 such a mania about work nowadays. Of course 
 he invited that pretty American girl and her 
 mother to Lexham Castle on Algy's account. 
 
 Lady G. What, Miss Calson? I thought Mr. 
 Wake was in love with Margaret — but every one 
 is. Besides, he and Margaret are first cousins — 
 it wouldn't even make a change of name. 
 
 Gerald. In China it isn't lawful to marry 
 any one of the same name. 
 
 Rhoda. Mother, do tell me about Freddie and 
 Margaret. I saw them in the park yesterday sit- 
 ting on two chairs under a conspicuous tree, talk- 
 ing for at least half an hour. They looked just 
 as if they were engaged. 
 
 Gerald. Or each of them married to some- 
 body else? 
 
THE MODERN WAY 229 
 
 Lady G. It's only friendship — I am sorry to 
 say. 
 
 Gerald. \_To Rhoda.] More platonics. 
 Your mother doesn't approve of them — this is a 
 degenerate age. 
 
 Rhoda. Platonics are all very well for mid- 
 dle-aged frumps. 
 
 Lady G. Of course. 
 
 Gerald. It's a very ancient form of friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Rhoda. That's what I say, it's all very well 
 for old people. 
 
 Gerald. Humph! [Saunters towards the 
 window. 
 
 Rhoda. [Turns anxiously to Lady Gaysford.] 
 I thought you said Freddie was coming in, hasn't 
 he a week's leave or something.'' 
 
 Lady G. Yes, he'll be here directly. He gets 
 off when they have passed Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 Rhoda. You think he's sure to come? 
 
 Lady G. Certain, for he made me invite the 
 Dolwyns. 
 
 Gerald. [Looking round.] What? The 
 dolphin ? 
 
 Lady G. The dolphin? 
 
 Rhoda. They call Sybil the Dolphin. 
 
 Lady G. Oh, I thought they called her the 
 corkscrew. The Dolwyns made their money out 
 
2S0 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 of it, you know. Freddie is infatuated with her 
 — simply infatuated. 
 
 Rhoda. And yet there's Margaret. 
 
 Lady G. I know [impatiently'] and it would 
 
 be so much better, but it's only friendship. He 
 
 spends his whole time running after Miss Dolwyn. 
 
 Rhoda. She's very handsome — and rolling in 
 
 money. 
 
 Enter Servant, announcing. 
 Servant. Miss Margaret Wake, the Duke of 
 Lexham. 
 
 Enter Margaret, young, pretty, sympa- 
 thetic, rather grave, and the Duke^ 
 57, cynical hut agreeable and distin- 
 guished-looking. 
 
 l^Exit Servant. 
 Lady G. [To the Duke.] How do you do. 
 My dear Margaret. [Kisses and evi- 
 dently likes her.] 
 
 Margaret. Uncle Edward brought me — it was 
 so amusing to see the crowd. 
 
 Duke. How d'ye do, very good of you to 
 ask us. We got through very well. Ah, Mass- 
 ington, how do you do.^* [Shakes hands with 
 Gerald and Rhoda.] What time do they go by? 
 
 Lady G. Very soon now 
 
 Duke. You were kind enough to say I might 
 bring on any one who was lunching with me so 
 I ventured to tell two charming American ladies, 
 
THE MODERN WAY 281 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Calson, that I thought you would 
 give them room. 
 
 Lady G. My dear Duke, I'm delighted — any 
 friends of yours. 
 
 Duke. Perhaps you know them by sight. 
 Miss Calson is a beautiful girl and her mother's 
 a very sensible woman, they will be charmed to 
 make your acquaintance. 
 
 Lady G. Nice of them 
 
 Margaret. [Looking round.] Where is Fred- 
 die? He told me to be sure to come early 
 
 Lady G. [Who evidently likes Margaret.] 
 I always like you to come early. 
 
 Margaret. He said he had something very 
 particular to say to me. 
 
 Lady G. [Eagerly.] Did he? [Her face 
 lighting up] and something to say to you, dear? 
 
 Margaret. I think it's about [lowering her 
 voice] Sybil Dolwyn, you know — he said he had 
 told you. 
 
 Lady G. [Disappointed.] Oh! 
 
 Rhoda. [To Margaret.] I hope he will 
 come — I want to talk to him [confidentially] — I 
 must. [She and Margaret get together at l. of 
 stage and sit dorvn.] You weren't at the Daw- 
 sons' last night. I was, unluckily, and 
 
 Servant. [Announcing.] Mr. Algernon Wake 
 — Sir George and Lady Silcot. 
 Enter Algernon Wake, rather fair, 25, weak 
 
2S2 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 looking . . . and the Silcots, usual so- 
 ciety types. 
 
 Lady G. [To Lady Silcot.] I'm so glad you 
 were able to come. Is Sir George quite well? 
 
 Sir George. Never better. [Shaking hands.} 
 
 Wake. How d'ye do, Lady Gaysford.^ [To 
 the Duke.] I saw Margaret towing you along, 
 Uncle Edward. 
 
 Duke. [Distantly.] How do you do, sir? 
 [To Lady Silcot.] Glad to see you — I heard 
 Silcot's speech the other night. 
 
 Sir G. It was too short, I'm afraid. 
 
 Duke. Not at all 
 
 Wake. How do again, Margaret? Hullo, 
 Massington — you were rather late getting into 
 the Carlton last night. 
 
 Rhoda. [Looking up.] What did you go to 
 the Carlton for, Gerald? 
 
 Gerald. Supper, of course — what does one 
 go for? 
 
 Wake. [Looking rather silly.] I never un- 
 derstood two men going to the Carlton myself 
 
 - — however it may be your idea 
 
 Rhoda. Oh! [Laughing.] That's so like 
 Gerald. 
 
 Wake. [Aside to Massington.] I didn't say 
 that it was 
 
 Gerald. [Falling in nnth the joke.] I was 
 with an old friend. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 2S8 
 
 Wake. Ah! looked old. I went on to Mrs. 
 Dawson's bridge-party. Mrs. Massington was 
 losing fivers without turning a hair 
 
 Rhoda. Don't tell tales of us all — [tvith a 
 nervous laugh.] 
 
 Gerald. [To Rhoda.] You told me you only 
 lost twenty-five shillings. 
 
 Wake. — And winning *em all back like any- 
 thing. 
 
 [Winks at Rhoda.] 
 
 Gerald. More than she did last time. 
 
 Lady G. Don't you think you had better go 
 to the balcony^ there are always things to see. 
 Enter Servant, announcing. 
 
 Servant. Mrs. and Miss Calson. 
 They enter, fashionably dressed. Mrs. Calson 
 is middle-aged, very talkative. Jennie, 26, 
 is pretty and charming. They are both much 
 interested in everything that is English. 
 
 Mrs. C. Lady Gaysford.^ 
 
 Lady G. Yes — I'm very glad to see you. 
 
 Mrs. C. [American accent.] Our friend, the 
 Duke of Lexham, said you would be so kind as 
 to let us see your King and Queen go by — and 
 as we've been wishing so much to make your ac- 
 quaintance, we took courage and seized this op- 
 portunity 
 
 Lady G. So kind of you. 
 
 Mrs. C. Well, the kindness is the other way. 
 
234 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 This is my daughter Jennie. She and I are in 
 England for the first time, and — why, Duke, 
 there you are again. [Turning to Lady Gays- 
 ford.] You English people are very good to us 
 Americans; we've had a lovely time. 
 
 Jennie. Just splendid I call it. 
 
 Mrs. C. We were longing to have a good 
 look at them to-day, but it didn't occur to us 
 to take places till it was too late. And one of 
 the things we have come over for, of course, is 
 to see them. Your King is really a King, you 
 know, and as for the Queen, why she's just 
 lovely. 
 
 Duke. Ah — we all think that. 
 
 Mrs. C. We were presented last week, but 
 we were so nervous about our trains, we didn't 
 know what we were about. Whatever you wear 
 them for I can't think. Just when you want to 
 have all your courage about you, you put on a 
 thing four yards long to take it off. Why, here's 
 Miss Wake again; we saw her just now at the 
 Duke's. 
 
 Gerald. [^Aside to Algy.] Does she always 
 talk as much as this? 
 
 Wake. Never leaves off while she's awake. 
 When she's asleep probably snores. [Goes 
 towards her.'\ How d'ye do, Mrs. Calson? Hope 
 you don't forget me — was at Lexham, you know. 
 
 Mrs. C. Why, it's Mr. Wake. Of course I 
 
THE MODERN WAY 235 
 
 don't forget. I saw you walking about in the 
 Park with Miss Dolwyn this morning. I think 
 her the most beautiful girl I ever set eyes on. 
 Wake. So do I. [With a foolish laugh.] Oh, 
 there's Miss Calson — I didn't mean that — I 
 
 meant, you know, she was too 
 
 Jennie. Well, she's just lovely, anyway. I 
 could look at her all day. 
 
 Wake. So could I — I mean half a day. 
 Mrs. C. [To Lady G.] These houses are in 
 the most splendid position. It's such a privi- 
 lege having Buckingham Palace Gardens oppo- 
 site. I expect you see them all walking about 
 — do they enjoy taking exercise? 
 
 [The Duke and Algy get together. 
 
 Lady G. Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you; 
 
 we don't look for them — they mightn't like it. 
 
 I think you have met my daughter, Mrs. Mass- 
 
 ington ? 
 
 [Looking towards Rhoda rvho is talking 
 to the SiLcoTS. 
 Rhoda. [Getting up reluctantly, evidently 
 hored.] How do you do? 
 
 [She goes back l., and Margaret and the 
 
 SiLcoTs group. 
 [Gerald Massington goes towards bal- 
 cony. 
 Mrs. C. Why, yes, we have met several times. 
 I understand, too, that you have a most delight- 
 
236 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 ful son — in the Guards. We hope to make his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Jennie. Guardsmen must have a lovely time 
 — I expect he is longing to be a hero. 
 Enter Freddie, Lord Gaysford, in uniform, any 
 regiment of Guards. Twenty-four, and boy- 
 ish. 
 
 Lady G. You must ask him that question, I 
 think. Here he is. [To Freddie.] My darling 
 — I have been hoping for you. 
 
 Freddie. [Going up to his mother and hiss- 
 ing her quite simply.] I was afraid I shouldn't 
 get here after all, Mum. Is your head better? 
 How do you do, Duke? [To Wake, with rather a 
 disagreeable nod.] There you are. 
 
 Wake. [With a silly smile.] Saw you this 
 morning. Wondered if you saw me. 
 
 Freddie. I saw you. [Goes over to Margaret, 
 who is still talking to Rhoda; she gets up, and 
 they look at each other in rather an intense man- 
 ner.] Margaret! this is good. 
 
 [Puts his hand on Rhoda's shoulder by 
 way of greeting. 
 
 Margaret. [To Freddie.] How late you 
 are. [Half aside.] I have so many things to 
 say to you. 
 
 Rhoda. Why don't you and Margaret shake 
 hands? Have you seen each other before to-day? 
 
 Margaret. No. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 237 
 
 Freddie. We never shake hands — that's part 
 of it. 
 
 Rhoda. Part of what? 
 
 Margaret. [Gravely to Freddie.] They 
 don't understand. 
 
 [Margaret and Freddie look as if they 
 were going to talk together, when Lady 
 Gaysford comes forward with Mrs. 
 CaI/Son and Jennie Calson. 
 
 Lady G. Freddie, dear, the Duke has kindly 
 brought two American friends. I want to intro- 
 duce you to them — Mrs. Calson — and Miss Jen- 
 nie Calson. 
 
 Freddie. \Whose manners should he quite 
 unaffected. "] How do you do? Kind of you to 
 come. [Shakes hands. 
 
 Mrs. C. It's a great privilege to meet any one 
 wearing that beautiful uniform. My niece, Anna, 
 over in New York, says, after the King and 
 Queen, she longs most to see the Guardsmen in 
 England. Only she's quite sure she'd lose her 
 heart to them all. 
 
 Freddie. They would like that. 
 
 Jennie. [To Freddie.] Miss Margaret Wake 
 told us a great deal about you to-day — we met 
 her at her uncle's, the Duke of Lexham — ^that's 
 why we hoped to meet you. 
 
 Freddie. I dare say she was much too kind. 
 [With the grave simplicity with which he always 
 
238 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 speaks of Margaret.] She is my friend. Won't 
 you come out to the balcony? They'll be here 
 directly. 
 
 Rhoda. You've seen them already, Freddie; 
 how do they look? 
 
 Freddie. Why, they look — ^well, just as they 
 always do, you know. 
 
 Jennie. Do you hear that, mother? Isn't it 
 splendid? I suppose you don't know what the 
 Queen wore now. Lord Gaysford? My Cousin 
 Anna in New York will want to know — ^^she'U 
 want to know everything. 
 
 Gerald. \^Aside to Wake.] Does she always 
 bring in Anna of New York? 
 
 Wake. Always. 
 
 Freddie. [To Jennie Calson.] She wore 
 — it was something — ^well, you know it was the 
 sort of thing she always wears — awfully nice. 
 
 Jennie. Don't you know what colour it was? 
 
 Freddie. It was blue, I think — no, it was 
 mauve. I think it was mauve, it was some col- 
 our, I know. Let me take you to the balcony — 
 then you will see directly that I'm right. 
 
 \^Gets rid of the Calsons into the bal- 
 cony.'] 
 
 Rhoda. [^Still talking with Margaret.] Yes, 
 I know, but what is one to do? Everything else 
 is played out. 
 
 [Rhoda and Margaret saunter towards 
 
THE MODERN WAY 239 
 
 balcony, hut stop inside drawing-room. 
 Rhoda meets Freddie on his way hack 
 from the halcony. 
 Rhoda. [To Freddie.] I do so want a talk 
 with you. 
 
 Freddie. Ill come directly I've spoken to 
 Lady Silcot. 
 
 [Goes over to Lady Silcot, who has heen 
 
 trying to waylay him. 
 [The Duke and Wake still talking on r. 
 Duke. I'll do what I can for you, sir, if 
 you behave yourself [speaks significantly^ but 
 I've no intention of allowing you a large income. 
 You must do something for a living — the Radi- 
 cals will be down on you if you don't — or you 
 must marry money. 
 
 [Looks significantly towards Miss Calson. 
 
 Wake. It takes a woman 
 
 Duke. I invited Mrs. Calson and her daugh- 
 ter to Lexham solely on your account — to let 
 her see you had family connections. Miss Cal- 
 son is a charming girl, and she has £42,000 a 
 year. Why didn't you ask her to marry you? 
 If she didn't particularly care for you, she might 
 have liked the place. 
 Wake. I did — no go. 
 
 Duke. I am not surprised. What did she 
 say? 
 
 Wake. Said her country wanted ageing. 
 
240 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Likes older men — that sort of thing — they've 
 got young men over there. 
 
 Duke. Dear me. She's a very remarkable 
 girl. 
 
 Wake. I've asked Margaret to marry me two 
 or three times, but she won't either — cousins, 
 you know — it would be so dull. I'm on to Miss 
 Dolwyn now — the girl who drives the piebald 
 ponies round the park. 
 
 Duke. Dolwyn? Let me see, mho is she? 
 
 Wake. Nobody. People made their money 
 by a patent corkscrew. 
 
 Duke. [Makes a sign of slight disgust,] I 
 remember, of course — not the sort of thing I care 
 for; but it is an excellent corkscrew — works eas- 
 ily — and sells largely, no doubt? 
 
 Wake. Tons of it. They go everywhere — 
 live in Park Lane. 
 
 Duke. Of course. They are very rich? 
 
 Wake. Rolling. 
 
 Duke. Handsome girl, isn't she? 
 
 Wake. Rather ! Going to see her at the War- 
 ringfords' to-night. 
 
 Duke. Humph! I'U drop in for half an 
 hour, and look at her — might be as well 
 
 Servant. [Announcing.'] Mr. Tremayne. 
 
 Freddie. [Coming forrvard, glad to escape 
 from Lady Silcot.] My dear chap, I was hop- 
 ing you'd turn up. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 241 
 
 Duke. [To Tremayne.] I thought you were 
 off to Constantinople? 
 
 Tremayne. I start for Paris at nine to-night 
 . . . go on to Constantinople in the morning. 
 Lady G. How do you do, Mr. Tremayne.'* 
 Many congratulations on your appointment. 
 [To the Duke.] They'll be here soon. Won't 
 you come to the window, and see that Miss Cal- 
 son has a good place? 
 
 [The Duke and Algy go together to- 
 wards the balcony, tvhere the Calsons 
 make room for them. 
 [Freddie detains Tremayne for a mo- 
 ment. 
 Freddie. [To Tremayne.] Look here, I 
 must speak to you presently. 
 
 Tremayne. Right. I'll come back in a min- 
 ute. 
 
 [Nods significantly and goes and speaks 
 to Rhoda. 
 
 [Freddie turns to Lady Gaysford. 
 Freddie. Mum, dear, do come to me for a 
 minute; they are all right there. [Nodding to- 
 wards balcony.] I shan't see you again to-day. 
 I am going back in an hour. 
 
 Lady G. Yes, dear. I have been longing to 
 see you. I forget where you're dining. 
 
 Freddie. At Lady Bilson's — she's taking us 
 all on to the Warringfords. I wanted to tell 
 
242 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 you — [They sit down together r. for a moment] 
 — IVe been thinking things over — making up my 
 mind. I mean — to risk it. 
 
 Lady G. You mean.^ 
 
 Freddie. That's it — I mean to ask Sybil Dol- 
 wyn. Margaret feels sure it's all right, and she 
 always knows everything. 
 
 Lady G. I wish it were Margaret. 
 
 Freddie. But she is my friend. . . . You 
 don't know Sybil. 
 
 Lady G. [Reluctantly.] She's very handsome, 
 of course. 
 
 Freddie. She's wonderful; she looks like a 
 young Empress, like a goddess, by Jove! Why, 
 every one looks after her even in the street. 
 I can't believe it's any good, but I mean to 
 risk it. 
 
 Lady G. I thought you said she was coming 
 to-day. I asked her and her mother, as you 
 wished it. 
 
 Freddie. She told me she was, then she said 
 she didn't think she could manage it. I tele- 
 graphed to know if I might fetch them, and 
 she answered, "Awfully sorry; can't come." I 
 was so glad she said awfully. 
 
 Lady. G. You are very fond of her? 
 
 Freddie. I love her — she is ripping. 
 
 Lady G. [Trying to taJce it well.] And you 
 are really going to ask her to marry you? 
 
THE MODERN WAY 243 
 
 Freddie. To-night if I get the chance. Wish 
 me luck, mother — wish me luck. 
 
 Lady G. I do, I do, Freddie, dear. I'll try 
 and love her because you do — I will. 
 
 Freddie. [Touching her hand.] Mum dear! 
 
 Rhoda. [Coming up to them with Tremayne. 
 To Lady Gaysford.] Do let me have Freddie 
 for a little while. I do so want him. 
 
 Lady G. [A little emotioned, but trying to 
 hide it.] Yes, of course. Shall we see what is 
 going on, Mr. Tremayne? 
 
 [She turns to Tremayne; they go towards 
 balcony. 
 
 [Freddie sits down by Rhoda. 
 
 Rhoda. I do so want to speak to you, Freddie. 
 I am up another tree. 
 
 Freddie. Oh — you are always getting up a 
 tree, dear. 
 
 Rhoda. But this is a dreadful one, and you 
 know what Gerald's temper is. 
 
 Freddie. Well, no, I don't; but, of course, 
 you do. 
 
 Rhoda. I believe that Dawson woman keeps 
 a gambling house, or something like it. Last 
 night I lost <£l60, and I haven't .£20 in the 
 world without telling Gerald. 
 
 Freddie. [Kindly but firmly.] Look here, 
 you shouldn't do it. You know you shouldn't. 
 
 Rhoda. Well, but 
 
244 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Freddie. It's a hprrid trick — in a woman^ los- 
 ing money; if she wants to get rid of it, I think 
 she should spend it on finery — that's all right, 
 you know. If I had a wife, and she lost a lot 
 of money gambling, I should be awfully angry. 
 And I would never let her go again to the house 
 where she had lost it. 
 
 Rhoda. [Astonished.] Freddie! I never 
 thought you would say that sort of thing. 
 
 Freddie. I didn't either. But I've been think- 
 ing about life and all sorts of serious things 
 lately. 
 
 Rhoda. You mustn't, you'll end up as a cur- 
 ate if you do. . . . I'm sorry I told you. 
 But I'm in an awful fix and I thought perhaps 
 you'd help me. I didn't sleep all night, I've had 
 neuralgia all the morning, I didn't eat any lunch- 
 eon — I believe I could die and not mind it — 
 I could do anything except tell Gerald. Oh, 
 Freddie, do help me. 
 
 Freddie. Of course I'll help you; what are 
 brothers for — only don't do it again, there's a 
 dear girl. When do you want it.'' 
 
 Rhoda. I must have it to-morrow morning 
 and notes, not a cheque. 
 
 Freddie. All right, I'll give it to you at the 
 Warringfords to-night, will that do? 
 
 Rhoda. Oh, Freddie dear! 
 
THE MODERN WAY 245 
 
 Freddie, I want you to try and say Fred; 
 Freddie sounds like some one who doesn't think 
 of serious things you know. 
 
 Rhoda. l^Astonished.] What is the matter 
 with you? You are so different since you be- 
 came friends with Mrs. Merlin and Margaret 
 Wake. 
 
 Freddie. I know, Tremayne used to be my 
 only chum. But it isn't that — it's something 
 awfully good. [Reaches out his hand for a mo- 
 ment and draws it back.'] I'm going to ask 
 Sybil Dolwyn if she'll marry me, I'm awfully in 
 love with her — taken a regular header. I mean 
 to risk it to-night. 
 
 Rhoda. Oh. ... I can't think why you 
 didn't fall in love with Margaret. You seem so 
 fond of each other. 
 
 Freddie. Of course we are, but we are friends 
 — it is quite different, you know. 
 
 Rhoda. You have been inseparable for such 
 a long time. Do you mean to say it is all 
 platonics ^ 
 
 Freddie. Poor dear Rhoda, you don't under- 
 stand. 
 
 Rhoda. No, I don't. 
 
 [Tremayne and Margaret come towards 
 them. 
 
 Freddie. ILooks up and says quite simply,] 
 
246 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Rhoda doesn't understand a bit about our friend- 
 ship^ do tell her about it. It was when we were 
 both staying at the Stickindales, wasn't it? 
 
 Margaret. Two years ago. The weather was 
 dreadful and it was a horrid middle-aged house- 
 party — quite old in fact. 
 
 Freddie. Not a creature under forty, you 
 know. 
 
 Margaret. I was bored to death. Suddenly 
 Freddie arrived 
 
 Freddie. We knew directly we should like 
 each other. She made me do a lot of things. 
 
 Rhoda. What sort of things? 
 
 Freddie. Well, read books. 
 
 Margaret. Learn some Omar Khayyam by 
 heart. 
 
 Rhoda. [Looks up inquiringly.'] What's that? 
 
 Tremayne. Persian beggar, you know, lived 
 in a tent or made tents or something. Knew a 
 lot about flowers and wine and heaps of things. 
 
 Rhoda. Think I've heard of him. Dead, isn't 
 he? 
 
 Freddie. Oh, yes, quite dead. 
 
 Rhoda. What else? 
 
 Margaret. Go to the Queen's Hall con- 
 certs. 
 
 Rhoda. Oh, that's why! 
 
 Margaret. Go to the Stage Society plays and 
 read some books on Philosophy. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 247 
 
 Freddie. I drew the line at the philosophy 
 — after a bit, you know; but I went to a Bernard 
 Shaw play — they talked a great deal, and made 
 jokes I think; and people laughed, but there 
 wasn't any love-making. 
 
 Rhoda. [Laughing and puzzled.^ I think 
 you are too ridiculous. Oh, Margaret, I want to 
 
 ask you 
 
 [^Saunters away with Margaret. 
 [Tremayne and Freddie together on l. 
 
 Freddie. It's an awful bore, you're going 
 away, old man. 
 
 Tremayne. Nine o'clock at Victoria to-night 
 and good-bye to England. 
 
 Freddie. I shall miss you awfully. 
 
 Tremayne. You must come out and see me 
 next time you get leave. Might have come with 
 me, but I think you said your time was up next 
 Monday. 
 
 Freddie. Besides, I couldn't just now. I 
 should like to come and see you off, but I'm din- 
 ing out, and going on to Warringford House. I 
 want you to know, old chap — I've made up my 
 mind to risk it 
 
 Tremayne. [Looking round slowly.^ The 
 dolphin ? 
 
 Freddie. That's it, but we won't call her that 
 any more. 
 
 Tremayne. Sounds fishy, doesn't it? 
 
248 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Freddie. Awfully fishy, but — er — ^but what 
 do you think of it? 
 
 Tremayne. Beautiful girl — no end of go. 
 
 Freddie. Any amount — I hope it'll be all 
 right. 
 
 Tremayne. Sure to. You're a nice chap > 
 
 Freddie. Heaps of *em about. 
 
 Tremayne. A title 
 
 Freddie. They're awfully cheap just now. 
 
 Tremayne. Pretty well protected though — 
 only thing that is at present. . . . except the 
 working class 
 
 Freddie. Don't joke, Tremayne — it's the 
 wrong time. . . . Wish I could feel it's all 
 right. 
 
 Tremayne. Why, of course it's all right. 
 You've been as thick as thieves for the last five 
 weeks. I saw Algernon Wake look as if he'd like 
 to murder you on Thursday 
 
 Freddie. Poor beggar! I'm awfully sorry 
 for him — it's the second time he's been hit. He's 
 always on her track — makes himself into my 
 shadow. 
 
 Tremayne. Never mind, you're the substance. 
 
 Freddie. [Uneasily.'] Wish I could be sure 
 of that, you know. Wake has been hanging roimd 
 a good deal lately. 
 
 Tremayne. He always hangs about 
 
 Freddie. Perhaps it's all right. She let me 
 
THE MODERN WAY 249 
 
 hold her hand for ten minutes the night before 
 last. Should have spoken then but I broke her 
 fan 
 
 Tremayne. Did she swear? 
 
 Freddie. Not a bit. Awfully sweet about 
 it — that's why I think it must be all right — she 
 would have sworn if she hadn't cared. 
 Went to the play last night, her people took a 
 box, a big one, family party. Awfully signifi- 
 cant their asking me you know? On the way 
 back motor broke down, she let me take her on 
 in a hansom. 
 
 Tremayne. Well, she couldn't walk. 
 
 Freddie. Might have gone on with some one 
 else — we all had to go on in hansoms or taxis or 
 something. ... I asked for two dances to- 
 night on purpose — I feel awfully nervous — I sup- 
 pose one always does. Can't believe she'll play 
 up, when I think of what a stunner she is. 
 
 Tremayne. Wait till after supper if you can, 
 it helps to get one's courage up. 
 
 Freddie. I will — but I wish you weren't go- 
 ing away. Look here, I'll send you a wire to 
 Paris in the morning, telling you if it's all right. 
 You'll be at the Bristol I suppose? 
 
 Tremayne. Only for an hour or two. I start 
 again at nine or some unearthly time of that 
 sort. Write to Constantinople, but it's sure to 
 be all right. 
 
250 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Freddie. I shall blow my brains out if it isn't. 
 Tremayne. Nonsense, old chap, besides you 
 haven't any. . . . But I say you are pretty 
 far gone? 
 
 Freddie. Rather — never saw any one like her, 
 sweeps you off your feet, you know. This time 
 
 to-morrow I shall be the happiest man alive or 
 
 [Puts his hand to his head as if holding a 
 pistol. 
 Tremayne. [Looking at him doubtfully.^ 
 Nonsense ! 
 
 Freddie. It isn't nonsense. I mean it. 
 
 [Rhoda and Margaret on l. laughing. 
 Tremayne. [As Freddie goes towards them.] 
 Oh, no, you don't, old chap; but you are hard 
 hit — [when he is out of hearing] and quite capa- 
 ble of making an ass of yourself. 
 
 Freddie. I say, Rhoda, you have had Mar- 
 garet long enough now, she and I haven't had 
 a word together. 
 
 Servant. [Announcing.] Mrs. Merlin. 
 
 [Lady Gaysford comes from balcony and 
 
 greets her. Mrs. Merlin is 34 or 35, 
 
 very soft and purring in her manner, 
 
 wears trailing rather artistic things. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Takes Lady Gaysford's hand in 
 
 both hers.] It was dear of you to send for me. 
 
 Lady G. I was afraid you weren't coming. 
 
 Mrs. M. I thought I should never get here. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 251 
 
 That dear Sir Charles Bassett brought me — no 
 driving, of course; we had to walk. 
 
 Lady G. Let us have some tea, we shall be 
 sure to hear the cheers when they are in sight, 
 you must be so exhausted. 
 
 Mrs. M. [To Freddie.] I am so glad to see 
 you and dear Margaret — ^you two are always to- 
 gether. 
 
 Margaret. [Simply and gravely."] We are 
 great, great friends. 
 
 Mrs. M. I know. He is my friend too, you 
 mustn't think he doesn't love me, I know he does. 
 
 Freddie. Of course I do, ever so much. 
 
 Gerald. [Turning his head.] Oh, I say, there 
 is tea going on. 
 
 [Everybody comes in from balcony, F. 
 and M. sit left. 
 
 Freddie. [To Margaret.] We shall meet to- 
 night? [They get to seat on l.] You must keep 
 four dances for me — we'll sit out two. 
 
 Margaret. I'm not going — isn't it provoking.^ 
 Mother will insist on our going to that party at 
 Wimbledon, it's a coming of age thing, and they 
 are old friends of hers. 
 
 Freddie. Oh, I say, it's awfully hard luck. I 
 thought of course you were going to the War- 
 ringfords — I want you. Couldn't you come early 
 for half an hour? 
 
 Margaret. I fear not. We are to drive to 
 
252 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Wimbledon after the Marsden Lees dinner — I 
 can't help hoping that mother may be too tired. 
 She's been selling things all day at the Albert 
 Hall and is going there again to-morrow. Now 
 we've got a chance do tell me what you are going 
 to do. It seems years since we had a talk. 
 
 Freddie. I know — we've not met since yes- 
 terday morning. . . . Margaret, I've made 
 up my mind to ask her. 
 
 Margaret. \^Clasping her hands, she seems 
 thrilled, hut not pleased.^ Oh, Freddie! 
 
 Freddie. Try and say Fred: responsibilities 
 of life and that sort of thing coming on, you know 
 it sounds better. 
 
 Margaret. [Tenderly. 1 I will, Freddie, dear. 
 
 Freddie. [Puts his hand on hers and draws 
 it away saying half to himself and half to her.] 
 Mustn't do that, must I.^ Comrades don't. 
 
 Margaret. No, but we are real comrades, 
 Freddie — Fred, dear — I'm very glad [with a 
 sigh.] Oh! I do hope she'll make you very, very 
 happy. 
 
 Freddie. It's splendid of you to be so anxious. 
 You think it is all right, don't you? You see 
 that idiot Algernon Wake is always hanging about. 
 
 Margaret. But she couldn't care for him. 
 Why, his ears stick out ! [Looking towards Wake. 
 
 Freddie. Still he'll be a duke one day, some- 
 
THE MODERN WAY 253 
 
 times girls care for that sort of thing. I've got 
 money, of course, but that isn't any good to her 
 — she has pots of her own. 
 
 Margaret. You've got yourself. 
 
 Freddie. That isn't much. 
 
 Margaret. Yes, it is. [Pause.'] I do so hope 
 that you really — really — love her? It would be 
 dreadful, if you married her and didn't love 
 her enough. 
 
 Freddie. I'm awfully gone on her, swear I 
 am. Look here, I shall try and get through after 
 supper. Think of me 
 
 Margaret. We shall be driving to Wimbledon. 
 
 Freddie. I'll come and tell you all about it 
 in the morning if I may? 
 
 Margaret. I'm going to sleep at Wimbledon. 
 You might telegraph to me there ** Lancaster 
 Lodge, Wimbledon Common," and come to Pont 
 Street at three — no, at four, to-morrow. I shall 
 be back by then. You must tell me everything 
 she says — we have been such great chums, you 
 know. 
 
 Freddie. Of course we have, and it isn't go- 
 ing to make any difference is it? I don't think 
 I could get on without you — in fact, I couldn't. 
 
 Margaret. Oh, yes, you could. I wish 
 
 [Stops, puts her hand to her throat. 
 
 Freddie. I say, is there anything I could do 
 
254 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 to please you? You look as if you'd gone down 
 a ladder, you know. 
 
 Margaret. [Half sadly.] I want you to take 
 it seriously, Freddie, dear. I think if you read 
 some Rossetti before you started, or Browning; 
 I'm not sure that Browning wouldn't be better 
 if — but it won't. Some people would say Swin- 
 burne, you know; but I think he should be taken 
 later, when one is in the depths — there's no one 
 like him for bitter despair. 
 
 Freddie. I'll read the whole lot of them if 
 you like, and there's time. You always give one 
 the straight tip. [Noticing Miss Calson, who has 
 come to the tea-table.] Can I get you anything? 
 
 Jennie. Well, I was just looking for a little 
 milk, you seem to only have cream here, you're 
 that luxurious in England 
 
 Freddie. Oh, well now, just think of New 
 York. 
 
 Jennie. I don't see why I should think of a 
 place I don't come from. 
 
 Freddie. I thought you lived there — that 
 Americans always had town-houses there any- 
 how 
 
 Jennie. Well, now, isn't that like people who 
 don't know? Why, I've only been there once in 
 my life, and I don't think I'll go many times. 
 I am a Westerner; I daresay you don't know 
 what that means now. Lord Gaysford? 
 
THE MODERN WAY 255 
 
 Freddie. I suppose it means the — well, the 
 West. 
 
 Jennie. That isn't a bad shot. 
 
 Freddie. I've heard a lot about it — it's a great 
 big country, isn't it.f* 
 
 Jennie. There isn't much of it left now but 
 there's some — perhaps that'll be allowed to stay 
 as it is. God knew what He was about when He 
 made the world, and when man takes to improving 
 it, I don't think he's much of a success, do you? 
 Have you ever talked on this subject with any of 
 the great thinkers.^ I mean about the world and 
 what's done to it. 
 
 Freddie. How do you mean? ... I think 
 I know — but in London people only talk of them- 
 selves or of each other — always playing up, or 
 playing off or something — and the world gets a 
 bit battered. 
 
 Jennie. Well, you see, out there in the West 
 there are the mountains and the great forests and 
 the rivers and all the things designed up in 
 Heaven; and life among them is just simple and 
 natural. ... In New York and over here in 
 Europe, you've just carted away nature as much 
 as you could and set up towns and all the things 
 that I suppose you call art — how in wonder you 
 live the lives you do I can't imagine. 
 
 Freddie. It sounds splendid — out in the West, 
 I mean — but what do you do all day? 
 
256 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Jennie. Well, now, I'll tell you. You get up 
 at five, for one thing, in the summer anyway — 
 you see the sun rise 
 
 Freddie. We often do that here. We wait 
 up for it, so it would be all right. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Coming forward.] How do you 
 do. Miss Calson.^ Are you two making friends? 
 I'm so glad. [To Miss Calson.] But you must 
 let him come and talk to me for a little while, 
 dear. I call him my boy, and I've not seen him 
 for such a long time. 
 
 Jennie. Why, of course — I mustn't keep him 
 from you — besides, I think we must be going, if 
 these royalties don't come by — we've things to 
 do — [gets up] — at least 
 
 Freddie. They'll be here directly — don't go, 
 I want you to tell me some more about the West 
 — I often think a good deal of the way we go 
 on is rot — we do it over and over again, 
 and it doesn't matter a bit if we're bored. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Intensely.] That's so true! 
 
 [No one notices her. 
 
 Jennie. [To Freddie.] I'll tell you any- 
 thing you like — perhaps you are going to Lady 
 Warringford's ball to-night, and we'll meet 
 there. But you've got to talk to Mrs. Merlin 
 now 
 
 Freddie. She'll like talking to you better 
 
 Mrs. C. [From balcony.] Jennie, you really 
 
THE MODERN WAY 257 
 
 must come; it's quite wonderful to look out — it 
 is just what we say it is at home. 
 
 Mrs. M. l^Sitting down and motioning Fred- 
 die to sit beside her, while Miss Calson goes to 
 balcony.'] I thought I should never get a moment 
 with you, but I know how many things you have 
 to do. 
 
 Freddie. {^Gratefully.'} You always under- 
 stand. 
 
 Mrs. M. I feel as if you*d something to tell 
 me. 
 
 Freddie. [Nodding an affirmative.] But we 
 can't talk here. Are you ging to Warringford 
 House to-night.'' 
 
 Mrs. M. I can't. They expect royalties; it 
 will be such a dreadful crush. I'm so afraid of 
 crushes now. {Pulls her chiffon scarf up closer 
 round her neck.] Let us sit down here, no one 
 will hear what we are saying. [Very confiden- 
 tially.] Now tell me, is Sybil going to-night.'' 
 
 Freddie. Yes, she's going. [Pause.] And I 
 mean to risk it — if I get a chance. I believe 
 they've covered in the gardens — or done some- 
 thing, anyway. 
 
 Mrs. M. She's a beautiful creature. I*m not 
 sure that she's quite — quite good enough for you, 
 dear. 
 
 Freddie. [Rather hurt.] You are not think- 
 ing of the corkscrews? 
 
258 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Mrs. M. [In an anxious voice.] No. I'm 
 not thinking of the corkscrew. That sort of 
 thing doesn't matter nowadays. 
 
 Freddie. Besides, she looks like an Empress. 
 Her people must be somebodies. 
 
 Mrs. M. Perhaps they've come down in the 
 world. 
 
 Freddie. And are climbing up again by the 
 corkscrew 
 
 Mrs M. And they are very rich . . . She's 
 a lucky girl — if you love her 
 
 Freddie. Perhaps she won't have me. 
 
 [Nervously. 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, yes, she will. Algernon Wake has 
 been hanging about her a good deal. 
 
 Freddie. I know. But I don't think she 
 would have him — Margaret is certain she wouldn't. 
 
 Mrs. M. He'll be a duke some day — but she 
 
 mayn't know that — and she'll have you 
 
 [Touches his hand and smiles. 
 
 Freddie. I shall go under if she doesn't. 
 
 Mrs. M. No, you won't, dear. You'll face it 
 like a man — but it'll be all right. Isn't she two 
 years older than you are.f* 
 
 Freddie. Yes, but that doesn't matter a bit. 
 I asked her the other night if she thought it 
 mattered. I never saw a girl like her — I'm aw- 
 fully gone on her. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Gives him a fatuous smile. Puts 
 
THE MODERN WAY 259 
 
 aut her hand.] Poor boy! Of course she's very 
 handsome 
 
 Freddie. She's splendid. 
 
 Mrs. M. I always thought you'd end by mar- 
 rying Margaret. 
 
 Freddie. She's my friend. 
 
 Mrs. M. It would have been a much better con- 
 nection, you know. You must come to-morrow 
 and tell me everything. ... I shall go away 
 directly they have gone by. [Looking towards 
 the balcony.] I have to dine at the Cramptons; 
 one of their long dull dinners, I suppose — I 
 couldn't get through without a little rest first, 
 but I felt that I must see you. That's why I 
 came. 
 
 Freddie. It was good of you. I wish you were 
 going to-night. 
 
 Mrs. M. ]^Getting up.] You must tell me 
 everything to-morrow. \_In a thrilling voice.] 
 Don't be nervous; and give her a long, long kiss 
 that you'll both remember all your lives. 
 
 Freddie. I say, you do know. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Half closing her eyes and taking 
 
 his hands. ^ We've all been through it, and 
 
 [Excitement in the balcony — distant shouts. 
 
 Duke. Mrs. Merlin, where are you? 
 
 [Wake and Rhoda, Mrs. Merlin, all in 
 the room go towards the balcony. Ex- 
 cited exclamations. 
 
260 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Mrs. M. lAs. she turns towards balcony with 
 Freddie.] You must tell me everything to-mor- 
 row. [Ej:it to balcony. 
 [Freddie nods and looks towards Margaret. 
 Margaret. \_In a low voice — almost sad."] 
 Freddie! 
 
 l^It should be quite evident that she cares 
 for him. 
 Freddie. Margaret! You don't want to look 
 out? 
 
 [They stand together centre of room. 
 She shakes her head. 
 All. [In balcony.] They are coming! They're 
 really coming ! Yes, it is ! 
 
 [Margaret and Freddie seem to hear 
 
 nothing. 
 [Shouts grow louder, band in distance 
 plays " God Save the King" cheers 
 heard in the distance as the curtain 
 falls. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT ir 
 
 Time. — Eleven o'clock the same night. 
 
 Scene. — Conservatory at Warringford House. 
 Trees, florvers, seats, S^c. Exits r. and l. 
 at hack {or at centre), evidently leading to 
 ball-room. Dance music heard faintly all 
 through the Act. An Exit on l. half way 
 down the stage, presumably leading to gar- 
 den. Door on r., with curtains, leading to 
 supper-room. Two or three small tables are 
 placed just inside the conservatory, near the 
 curtains, as if for overflow guests. In c. 
 group of palms with settee beneath them. 
 The whole scene should be picturesque, with 
 sitting-out corners for dancers, S^c. Guests 
 stroll in and out. 
 
 When the curtain rises Benson is discovered. He 
 is fat, middle-aged, and consequential. Looks 
 round as if puzzled, goes to curtained door 
 on R., beckons. 
 
 Enter Man-Servant. 
 
 Benson. That supper-room won't anything 
 like take them all. 
 
 961 
 
262 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Servant. There's the library, Mr. Benson — 
 but that's only for their Royal Highnesses. 
 
 Benson. We could put half a dozen tables 
 here. 
 
 Servant. Her ladyship said we could put 
 them anywhere. 
 
 Benson. Two could go here — [indicating 
 
 place] — and one here — and 
 
 [Sound of laughter. 
 Algernon Wake and Sybil Dolwyn enter from 
 ball-room at back. 
 [Sybil Dolwyn must be handsome, beau- 
 tifully dressed and insolent in man- 
 ner. 
 [Benson and Servant retreat hastily into 
 supper-room. 
 Algy. [Looking inane but devoted.^ Oh, I 
 say, but you don't mean that, do you.f* 
 
 Sybil. Yes I do. If you don't want it, of 
 course we'll consider it off. 
 
 Algy. But I want anything you want — you 
 know I like 'em, don't you, Sybil — so glad to 
 drop the Miss Dolwyn. 
 
 Sybil. Very well, then. We'll consider it on 
 for the present. 
 
 Algy. Rather wish they weren't piebald — 
 makes 'em look so got up. 
 
 Sybil. I like them to look got up — it's smart 
 — don't want any others. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 263 
 
 Algy. You're smart. There isn't one of 'em 
 can touch you. Thought so this afternoon when 
 I saw you behind the little beasts — much better 
 than going to Grosvenor Place — only just got 
 away in time to have a look at you. 
 
 Sybil. I drove them round three times yes- 
 terday. Lady Barstock looked furious. That's 
 the best of their being piebald, you can't help 
 looking at them specially when you drive them 
 tandem. 
 
 Algy. I was there — saw you — nearly raised a 
 cheer. 
 
 Sybil. Rather amusing, wasn't it? 
 
 Algy. Awfully. Told Uncle Edward about 
 it this afternoon. Says he wants to see you. 
 
 Sybil. What for? 
 
 Algy. iWith a silly little gestured] Oh, well, 
 you know. . . . He's heard about you. . . . 
 You see, some day I shall. be where he is 
 
 Sybil. You mean you'll be the Duke? 
 
 Algy. That's it — awful bore in some ways. 
 
 Sybil. There are compensations still, I sup- 
 pose; when you have got through the poor re- 
 lations and the death dues — but I expect he'll 
 live as long as he can and only die when he can't 
 help himself. 
 
 Algy. Can't blame him for that. I don't be- 
 lieve in dying myself, do you? Nothing else to 
 do when you've done it, so far as we know. \_She 
 
264^ THE MODERN WAY 
 
 gets up.] I say, what's the matter? It's aw- 
 fully nice here. 
 
 Sybil. I want to go back. We're missing 
 everything out here, and I expect the Royalties 
 won't stay long — I rather like the Prince — ^the 
 Princess isn't a bad sort either — she was rather 
 amusing the other day. 
 
 Algy. Quite right. I say, what do you think 
 of the Archbishop of Canterbury? 
 
 Sybil. Never troubled my head about him — 
 should say he would be rather dull. 
 
 Algy. Or the German Emperor — skittish, you 
 know, but not a bad sort and toning down on the 
 whole, sorry for it, rather like his skitting. 
 
 Enter from ball-room Margaret and Duke 
 OF Lexham talking. 
 
 Margaret. Oh, no — dear Uncle Edward — of 
 course not — oh! [Perceiving Sybil and going 
 forward.] Miss Dolwyn. [To Sybil.] I 
 thought I should meet you here. Have you seen 
 Lord Gays ford? I know he was coming. 
 
 [Algy goes up to the Duke, talks to him 
 aside, while Margaret and Sybil are 
 talking. 
 
 Sybil. [Rather insolently.] He's here, hang- 
 ing round as usual — I saw him just now. 
 
 Margaret. I wanted to see you too so much 
 — but I'm not going to stay — I must go directly 
 in fact — couldn't you sit down for two minutes? 
 
THE MODERN WAY 265 
 
 It would be so nice to know each other a little 
 better. 
 
 Sybil. [Rather unwillingly.] Well? \^Sits 
 down on settee with Margaret.] Why are you 
 going away so soon? 
 
 Margaret. Mother is waiting for me in the 
 motor outside, we are on our way to a dance at 
 Wimbledon. 
 
 Sybil. Wimbledon! You wouldn't catch me 
 going to a dance at Wimbledon — there won't be 
 a soul worth speaking to there. Why do you go? 
 
 Margaret. \^Choked off a little by her manner, 
 and with an unconscious hauteur.'] They are old 
 friends of my mother's, and 
 
 Sybil. Oh, I know — as bad as relations; aren't 
 they? Always expecting you to go and see them 
 or something — selfish, I call it. 
 
 Margaret. Oh, no! 
 
 Sybil. Yes, it is, what's the good of pretend- 
 ing it isn't? I never take any notice of them 
 — ^just let them clamour. What did you want to 
 see me for? 
 
 Margaret. I wanted to talk to you, for Lord 
 Gaysford and I are friends [with the note that 
 always comes into her voice when she says the 
 word] and he told me so much about you to-day. 
 
 Sybil. [Rather flattered.] He's a silly boy. 
 Did he tell you he smashed my fan the other 
 night ? 
 
266 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Margaret. He was very unhappy about it. 
 
 Sybil. So was I — mending it will cost twelve 
 and sixpence. 
 
 Margaret. He would love to give you an- 
 other, I know. 
 
 Sybil. He can if he likes — I'm rather fond of 
 him — in a way — nice-looking, isn't he? 
 
 Margaret. [Cheering Mp.] I'm glad you say 
 that — he's so good, you know. 
 
 Sybil. [With a funny little laugh.] That's 
 against him — I think good people are slow, don't 
 you? So little variety in them, nothing unex- 
 pected. [Evidently bored with the conversation, 
 she looks towards Algy, who is talking with the 
 Duke; he takes the hint and comes toward her.] 
 I get bored 
 
 Margaret. Oh, don't say that! [Seeing that 
 the interview is coming to an end and anxious to 
 make the most of it.] I wonder if you would 
 come and see me — in Pont Street — you would al- 
 ways find me after five. 
 
 Sybil. I'll try. [With an anxious eye towards 
 Algy and the Duke.] Can't promise. I'm pretty 
 full up just now. Freddie Gaysford told me you 
 were very nice. 
 
 Margaret. Did he? — but he is my friend, 
 you know. 
 
 Sybil. How much? 
 
THE MODERN WAY 267 
 
 Margaret. Much? I don't understand. 
 
 Algy. [To Sybil.] I say, I believe this is 
 our dance and we are losing it all — and — er — my 
 uncle wants to be introduced to you — heard lots 
 about you 
 
 Sybil. [To the Duke, rather insolently, put- 
 ting hack her head,] How d'ye do.f* Heard of 
 you, too. [Puts out her hand. 
 
 Duke. [Bending over it.] I am honoured 
 — from whom? 
 
 Sybil. Oh, your nephew just now . . . Saw 
 you in the ball-room. 
 
 Duke. [Gallantly.'] I've been looking at you 
 from a distance. 
 
 Sybil. Very good of you, I'm sure. Hope 
 the enchantment it lent to the view hasn't van- 
 ished. Daresay we shall meet again 
 
 [Turns to Algy. 
 
 Algy. Meet often, I hope. 
 
 [Exit Sybil, rather hurriedly, with 
 Algy. 
 
 Duke. [Puts up his pince-nez and looks after 
 her. To Margaret.] Well, I don't think much 
 of it. 
 
 Margaret. Of what. Uncle Edward? 
 
 Duke. [Nodding in the direction that Sybil 
 and Algy have gone.] That! I suppose she can't 
 help it, corkscrew has turned her head. 
 
268 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Margaret. [Anxiously.'] Then it's not her 
 fault, is it? Don't you think a bad manner is 
 sometimes only nervousness? She'll be different 
 in time 
 
 Duke. H'm! I dislike these people myself, 
 and a precious havoc they are making of the 
 world; but we've got to put up with them, it's no 
 good pretending anything else, we've got to put 
 up with them — and if she'll marry Algy she'll 
 do me a service. 
 
 Margaret. [Surprised.] Oh, but she won't, 
 Uncle Edward, I assure you. Freddie Gaysford 
 is in love with her, and I think — I think she likes 
 him. 
 
 Duke. Freddie Gaysford in love with her! 
 . . . Why, I thought Algy was certain of her, 
 he said so. Well, I don't think Freddie's mother 
 would like the corkscrew any better than I do, 
 but something must be done or Lexham will be 
 a ruin . . . Upon my life, I don't believe any 
 one will take Algy off my hands, but we shall see. 
 I wonder if those two nice American women are 
 here yet — I know they're coming. 
 
 Margaret. I like Miss Calson. 
 
 Duke. [With some emphasis.] She's a charm- 
 ing girl, has forty-two thousand a year, and not 
 a bit spoilt by it. I suppose they made it by 
 cattle or something of that sort, and it works bet- 
 ter th^n e\. corkscrew. She has told me a great 
 
THE MODERN WAY 269 
 
 deal about the Western States of America; they 
 seem to have some nature left there still, as she 
 puts it, and she has come straight here without 
 being spoiled by the vagaries of New York. 
 
 Margaret. You seem to like her. Uncle Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 Duke. Yes, I do. 
 
 Margaret. You had her to stay at Lexham 
 with that rather dreadful mother. 
 
 Duke. I don't think the mother is dreadful, 
 my dear; she is only curious, as we all are about 
 new things and conditions. I had a little plot 
 to marry her daughter to Algy, but the young 
 lady wouldn't have anything to say to him — I 
 suppose I ought to go and look after them 
 
 Margaret. [Eagerly.] Oh, do send Freddie 
 to me if you can. I telegraphed to him saying 
 I would be here at 11:15 punctually for five min- 
 utes. I shall have to go at twenty past. 
 
 Duke. [Looking at watch.'] It's eighteen 
 minutes past now. 
 
 Margaret. And he is generally so punctual. 
 Enter Freddie with Mrs. Calson. 
 
 Oh, here he is. [To Freddie, who comes to- 
 wards her.] I was just telling Uncle Edward 
 that you are generally so punctual. 
 
 Duke. [Going towards Mrs. Calson.] My 
 dear lady, I was going to look for you. I hope 
 your charming daughter is with you? 
 
270 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Mrs. C. Why yes^ you may be sure I wouldn't 
 come without her. We've been most anxious to 
 find you. You'll tell us who every one is, and 
 that's just what we want to know — at least I 
 do — you see Jennie only cares for what she calls 
 " a general impression/' that's why 
 
 Duke. Couldn't we go and look for her? 
 
 [Ea;it with Mrs, Calson. 
 [Freddie and Margaret alone. 
 
 Freddie. But it's splendid of you to be here, 
 how did you manage it? 
 
 Margaret. [Breathlessly.] I told mother 
 that we must have the motor for Wimbledon, and 
 then I persuaded her to let me come in for five 
 minutes on the way — she's outside waiting. I ex- 
 pect she'll be dreadfully cross, for you know how 
 she hates motors, and it's grunting and groaning 
 to-night; it simply whistled all the way down 
 Piccadilly. 
 
 Freddie. They always do when any thing's 
 up — it's rather nice of them. Have you seen 
 Sybil? 
 
 Margaret. She was here just now with Algy. 
 
 [They sit on settee c. 
 
 Freddie. He's been hanging about her all 
 night, I expect he does it on purpose — however 
 we've got a dance coming on and I'm going to 
 take her in to supper. She's just ripping, isn't 
 she? Every one looks at her, you know. That's 
 
THE MODERN WAY 271 
 
 what makes me feel that she can't care for such 
 a duffer as I am. The Prince talked to her for 
 five minutes as soon as he arrived. 
 
 Margaret. [Drarving a chiffon round her, 
 ^c.'\ I wish it was over — I want you to be happy 
 so much — you don't know 
 
 Freddie. Dear Margaret! There isn't any 
 one like you — I say must you really go? I'm aw- 
 fully nervous 
 
 Margaret. [Nodding.] But you mustn't be 
 nervous, Freddie, dear; remember you are a sol- 
 dier. 
 
 Freddie. Oh, I don't mind gunpowder a bit, 
 that's a trifle to this. 
 
 Margaret. Did you do all I told you.'' 
 
 Freddie. Hadn't much time, but I did what I 
 could — hunted everywhere, and couldn't find 'em, 
 perhaps I threw them at something. I bought 
 another lot — at least I got selections from Brown- 
 ing — I thought selections would do — and I bought 
 all the other chap's stuff, but I couldn't manage 
 to get more than twenty minutes at them. They 
 know an awful lot of course 
 
 Margaret. Even twenty minutes would help 
 to put you into a right frame of mind. 
 
 Freddie. If she refuses me I shall go under. 
 She's such an awful stunner, I should owe it to 
 her — there wouldn't be any one left to do it for 
 if one didn't for a girl like that 
 
272 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Margaret. [Staring at him.l Do you care 
 so much? [3^^^y g^i "P* 
 
 Freddie. [Nodding,] An awful lot, there 
 isn't any one like her, and if she doesn't catch 
 
 on there won't be anything left to do except 
 
 \_Shrugs his shoulders.l I told Tremayne so to- 
 day. He said I'd taken it badly, but he's never 
 been through it himself. 
 
 Margaret. [Vehemently.] I can't believe 
 that she doesn't care for you. 
 
 Freddie. Mrs. Merlin said she thought it 
 would be all right. But — I don't know how it 
 is — somehow I never can get at her — really I 
 mean — you see every one hangs about her. Why 
 
 only the other day at Hurlingham 
 
 Enter Rhoda and Gerald Massington. 
 
 Rhoda. Oh, here he is. [To Freddie.] We've 
 been looking for you all round the place, I must 
 have a talk with you, Freddie. 
 
 [Gerald is speaking to Margaret. 
 
 Margaret. [To Rhoda.] Do you mind if he 
 sees me off first? I'm going to Wimbledon, to 
 a dance, with mother; she's waiting in the motor 
 outside and must be furious by this time. 
 
 Rhoda. Gerald will take you. [To Gerald.] 
 Take Margaret down to the carriage — the motor 
 — or whatever it is — [evidently agitated.] Fred- 
 die wants to talk to me. 
 
 [Gerald goes towards her. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 273 
 
 Margaret. [To Freddie.] You'll telegraph 
 in the morning Lancaster Lodge, Wimbledon Com- 
 mon — I shall be there till twelve I daresay — and 
 come to Pont Street in the afternoon — my new 
 sitting-room is ready. 
 
 Freddie. [Nodding.^ All right. [As she is 
 about to go, with a rush of feeling in his voice,'] 
 I say, let's be very commonplace and shake hands 
 this time 
 
 Rhoda. Why — I thought you never did? 
 
 Freddie. [Explanatory.] In case the motor 
 stands on its head. 
 
 Margaret. Or tramples us underfoot on 
 Wimbledon Common. 
 
 Freddie. Oh, I say, Margaret! [She and 
 Freddie clasp hands for a moment, rvith a note 
 of real feeling in his voice he says] Good-night. 
 
 Margaret. Courage, dear friend. [In a low 
 voice.] . . . Good-night, Rhoda. 
 
 [Exeunt Margaret and Gerald. 
 
 Rhoda. Now perhaps we shall get a minute 
 or two [as she and Freddie are left alone]. 
 Enter Waiter or Servant followed by Benson, 
 from between supper-room curtains on r. 
 
 [With a sign of impatience.] Oh 
 
 Freddie. Why, here's Benson — how do you 
 do? [Goes up and shakes hands with him.] I 
 didn't know you were back again. Are you with 
 Lady Warringford? 
 
274 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Benson. No, my Lord, only for the evening. 
 I*m back in England for good. I hope her lady- 
 ship is well.^ [To JRhoda.] And you. Ma'am? 
 
 Rhoda. Yes, thank you. I thought you left 
 mother to go and live in Paris. 
 
 Benson. I hoped I was doing a new thing, 
 ma'am; so did her ladyship. 
 
 Rhoda. What was it.^ I forget. 
 
 Freddie. He started a training-school for 
 turning French waiters into English butlers. 
 
 Benson. The idea was an excellent one, but 
 the material over there was disappointing. 
 
 Freddie. Too thin? 
 
 Benson. Too finicky, my lord, and they 
 haven't the manner. They may do for waiters, 
 but they'll never make good butlers. 
 
 Rhoda. [Impatiently , evidently anxious to be 
 alone with Freddie.] And you've given up the 
 idea ? 
 
 [While this talk is going on, the Servant 
 brings in two small tables and puts 
 them on l., and one or two more and 
 puts them by palm-trees in isolated 
 position. 
 
 Benson. [Evidently perceiving Rhoda's im- 
 patience.] Yes, ma'am. When the season is 
 over, I hope to get settled again — it's too late 
 now. I know her ladyship is suited, imfortunately 
 for me 
 
THE MODERN WAY 275 
 
 Rhoda. [Still impatient.] Yes. 
 
 Benson. Meanwhile, dinner-parties, or balls, 
 or anything that wants managing, I shall be 
 happy to attend. [Then as Rhoda turns away 
 to talk with Freddie, he says haughtily to the 
 Waiter.] That will do. You needn't do any 
 more, Charles; we can't take any more tables 
 from the supper-room. 
 
 [Eaiit Servant. 
 [Benson looks round, and turns as if to go. 
 
 Freddie. [With a sudden idea, going up to 
 him and speaking confidentially.] Look here, 
 Benson, I shall come in presently with a lady 
 for supper. You might manage to give us a table 
 in a quiet corner. 
 
 Benson. [Evidently understanding.] It shall 
 be done, my lord. I'll put one just here. [In- 
 dicates L.c. by palm.] [Exit Benson. 
 [Freddie and Rhoda alone. 
 
 Rhoda. Oh, do come and sit down for a mo- 
 ment. I am so anxious about that money — it 
 must be paid to-night — and I'm dreadfully afraid 
 of Gerald twigging there's something up. 
 
 Freddie. I've got it somewhere. [Business 
 with his pockets.] Don't know what I did with 
 it, though — oh, yes, it's all right. There it is. 
 [^Handing her a roll of notes, which she quickly 
 hides in the bosom of her dress.] Promise me 
 you won't do it again, there's a good girl. 
 
276 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Rhoda. Ohj I can't promise that; you see, 
 people won't have you if you don't play fairly 
 high nowadays. 
 
 Freddie. Yes they will. You're awfully nice, 
 you know, and there isn't any occasion for nice 
 girls to do the things the other ones must. 
 
 Rhoda. Do you think I'm nice? Brothers sel- 
 dom worry about their sisters. 
 
 Freddie. Of course you're nice, and I am very 
 fond of you. That's why 
 
 Rhoda. You are a dear. 
 
 Freddie. I wish every one thought me one. 
 
 Rhoda. Doesn't Margaret? 
 
 Freddie. That's different, she's my friend, as 
 I told you to-day. 
 
 Rhoda. And are you really going to propose 
 to Sybil Dolwyn? 
 
 Freddie. [Nodding.] I'm going to risk it. 
 
 Rhoda. You'll get tons of money with her — 
 that's something. 
 
 Freddie. I don't want them; I only want her. 
 P'raps she won't have me. 
 
 Rhoda. Oh — h — h! [Contemptuously.] She'll 
 jump at you. Why, you're one of the best partis 
 in London. I wish she wouldn't — I don't care for 
 her. 
 
 Freddie. If she refuses me I shall be done 
 for. 
 
 Rhoda. Nonsense, she won't; she knows bet- 
 
THE MODERN WAY 277 
 
 ter. Of course we're not going to let other peo- 
 ple say it if you marry her; but she's an outsider 
 — she knows it herself. 
 
 Freddie. [Quickly.'] Look here, Rhoda, I 
 wish you wouldn't say that kind of thing. It isn't 
 — well, it isn't sportsmanlike, you know. You 
 see, you don't understand Sybil. She looks like 
 a goddess, and — er — has all kinds of — of — qual- 
 ities. I don't quite know what they are, but she's 
 got them — you can see it in her walk. And then, 
 you're my sister, and I can't bear you to think 
 anything that isn't kind of any one, especially 
 of any one I care a lot about. 
 
 Rhoda. Freddie, what's come over you.^ If 
 you go on in this way you'll become a coun- 
 try curate, or join the Salvation Army, or die 
 young. 
 
 Freddie. Perhaps I shall. 
 
 Rhoda. [Evidently thinking she has gone too 
 far.] Don't be cross. Of course, I shall be very 
 nice if you marry her. I'll make up to her to- 
 night if I get a chance. 
 
 Re-enter Gerald. 
 
 Gerald. Margaret's getting nicely slanged all 
 the way to Wimbledon. 
 
 Freddie. Dear Margaret, it wasn't her fault. 
 It's so difficult to make mothers understand some- 
 times — even the nicest mothers. 
 
 Rhoda. They outgrow things, you know. 
 
278 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Enter Mrs. Calson alone, rather distraite. She 
 hesitates and looks round. 
 
 Freddie. [Aside to Rhoda.] I'll go and look 
 for her now^ our dance is the next but one. [Nerv- 
 ously.] I wonder if there's any champagne about. 
 
 Gerald. Plenty in there. [Nodding to the 
 supper-room.^ Take Mrs. Calson in and give her 
 a bumper; they like it at that age, and with that 
 figure. 
 
 Rhoda. You mustn't say that sort of thing 
 to Freddie, or he'll go for you as he did for me 
 just now. 
 
 Freddie. Oh, I can't. [Meaning that he can't 
 he worried with Mrs. Calson.] I must go and 
 look for her — it's time — I might miss her. Look 
 here — I'll take you back, and Gerald can give 
 the old lady some supper. 
 
 [Gives his arm to Rhoda, who looks back 
 triumphantly to Gerald. 
 
 Gerald. I don't mind — they don't expect you 
 to talk. 
 
 Rhoda. [Confidentially to Freddie as they 
 go off.] You really are a lamb, Freddie, dear. 
 
 Freddie. I wish she thought me a lamb — 
 but what for.f^ 
 
 Rhoda. Getting rid of Gerald for me. I do 
 think that a husband who follows one about a 
 
 ballroom or anywhere 
 
 [Exeunt Rhoda and Freddie. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 279 
 
 [Gerald and Mrs. Calson left together. 
 Gerald. Do anjrthing for you.^ I believe 
 there's food in there. 
 
 Mrs. C. Well, I don't mind. I always like 
 to make sure of things myself. 
 
 Gerald. They've put some tables here, but I 
 think we'd better go in. 
 
 Mrs. C. Why yes. Out here we wouldn't see 
 much or get a selection, and I always want to 
 see what your English ways are like. 
 
 Gerald. There isn't much to be said for them, 
 but I daresay we shall get more to eat in there 
 and that's something. Best of taking in a chap- 
 erone is that she appreciates a good supper — so 
 do I. 
 
 [^They disappear through the curtains into 
 
 the supper-room. 
 Waiter enters. Business. Benson fol- 
 lows, they arrange table, evidently 
 for Freddie l. c, business. 
 [Couple pass. Music louder and softer, ^c. 
 Enter Duke and Jennie Calson from ball- 
 room. 
 Duke. It seems to be comparatively quiet out 
 here. 
 
 Jennie. Why yes, and it's lovely. [Looking 
 round.] I do think you English people know how 
 to do things. Why, this London is just one great 
 show; but my! I wouldn't care to live here, it's 
 
280 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 all a sort of intoxication — like the champagne, 
 not to be taken every day, though it does you 
 good to taste it sometimes. 
 
 Duke. Well — er — suppose we have some now 
 — these little tables are meant for supper — this 
 
 one will do 
 
 \_Goes towards one arranged for Freddie. 
 
 Jennie. I*d like it, but I wonder where moth- 
 er's got to. She's the only one here with a red 
 feather on her head, and the last time I saw 
 her it was waving along in this direction — that's 
 the best of a red feather, you can always see 
 it — it's as good as one of your post boxes. 
 
 [Clatter is heard and laughter as of sup- 
 per going on beyond curtains. 
 
 Duke. [D is satis fled.] Do you want to go 
 to her.'' 
 
 Jennie. Not me, I'd like to have supper here. 
 Enter Benson. 
 
 Benson. Supper, your Grace? 
 
 Duke. Yes. . . . You might put it at 
 that table. [Pointing to table l.c. To Jennie.] 
 It will be cooler than going into a crowded room. 
 
 Benson. [Moving a table r.c. by palm.] 
 Your Grace will find this better — and that one 
 has been taken 
 
 Duke. Oh — very well, it doesn't matter. 
 
 Jennie. I'd like to look in. [Looks in between 
 the curtains when servants bring food, champagne. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 281 
 
 ^c, to table r.c] Mother's there. I see her — 
 right at the far end. She's bent on doing every- 
 thing there is to do. Going everywhere, seeing 
 everything, eating everything. She'll be so pleased 
 and satisfied when she gets back home she won't 
 know what to do with herself. [Sits down to 
 supper at little table facing Duke, business of 
 supper. To Servant.] No, I don't want any- 
 thing. [To Duke.] I'm too excited to be 
 
 hungry 
 
 [Another couple come and take table far- 
 ther back so as to fill up scene. 
 
 Duke. [Growing a little empresse in manner. 1 
 Some champagne, eh? [Pours some into her 
 glass. 1 And we'll have a quiet little talk, eh? 
 
 [Servant hands something. 
 
 Jennie. No, thanks. [To Servant.] Some 
 fruit and a few crackers — biscuits, you call 
 them I believe — or anything of that sort 
 there is about, that will do for me. [To the 
 Duke.] At home it would be nearer our break- 
 fast-time than supper-time, but I've been very 
 
 much interested coming here, I can tell you 
 
 My! What a time you have in London — I like 
 seeing it. 
 
 Duke. Though you don't want it — any more 
 than that — every day? 
 
 [Nods his head at the glass she is raising 
 to her lips. 
 
282 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Jennie. No, I don't. 
 
 [Business, the Duke is evidently consid- 
 ering something. 
 
 Duke. [Bracing himself wp.] I'm sorry you 
 don't like our English life. 
 
 Jennie. But I do, it's London I'm speaking 
 of — I thought Lexham just lovely. I'd live there 
 always if it were mine. 
 
 Duke. I hoped it might be yours some day 
 when you were there, my dear young lady 
 
 Jennie. Why, Duke, what do you mean? 
 
 Duke. My nephew was very much in love 
 with you 
 
 Jennie. He's losing time falling in love with 
 any one while you are round. [It is said quite 
 innocently, but the Duke loohs up."] And in spite 
 of being your nephew there isn't much in that 
 funny-shaped head of his, yet — perhaps there 
 
 will be Don't you think that experience is 
 
 just so much seed that needs years to grow up 
 before it becomes wisdom? I don't think your 
 young men over here are half as charming as the 
 older men. 
 
 Duke. It never struck me — ^we older men feel 
 ourselves to be merely the background of life. 
 
 Jennie. I wish I could take a few over — it's 
 our background that wants filling in. [Business.] 
 I'd love to show you my home. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 288 
 
 Duke. {^Grorving still more empresse.] I 
 should like to see it — upon my word I would. 
 
 Jennie. It will be spoilt soon, perhaps, but 
 all the world will, for they are making cities 
 everywhere — and there are always too many peo- 
 ple in them, and some have too much to eat and 
 some too little, and a set of ways of their own. 
 I wouldn't like to be there when all the West is 
 like New York. 
 
 Duke. Why don't you come over here? 
 
 Jennie. But I wouldn't like to live always in 
 London. 
 
 [Freddie and Sybil enter from ball-room 
 at bacJc, they come slowly down the 
 stage towards the table laid for them 
 
 L.C. 
 
 [Servants go in and out attending to the 
 third couple, to Duke and Miss Cal- 
 son and to Freddie and Sybil as the 
 scene goes on. 
 Duke. But you liked Lexham. 
 Jennie. I just loved it. 
 Duke. I mean — could you live there? 
 
 [Tries to take her hand. 
 
 Jennie. [Surprised.] Why 
 
 Duke. You said you didn't like young men, 
 I'm an old fellow, but — [draws back as Servant 
 comes forward.] 
 
284 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Freddie. [Stopping at the table l.c] I say, 
 here's our table. 
 
 Jennie. [To Servant who offers something.] 
 No, thank you, I don't want anything more. 
 [Freddie and Sybil are behind them. 
 [The third couple, having finished supper, 
 go bach to ball-room. 
 Duke. This is a better place for a talk. 
 
 [Duke and Jennie get up and sit down 
 on the settee under the palms looking 
 R., their backs towards Freddie and 
 Sybil. 
 Jennie. I like listening to that music in the 
 distance — somehow it makes one think of home. 
 Freddie. [Who has sat down with Sybil at 
 the other table l.c] I say, isn't this ripping? 
 Sybil. [Absently. "i Isn't it? 
 
 [Waiter brings some soup, which she in- 
 stantly begins; then as if she suddenly 
 remembered Freddie. 
 It's rather a good entertainment, eh? 
 Freddie. Ripping. 
 
 Sybil. [Busy with her soup.] Ripping 
 
 Freddie. I felt as if I couldn't live any longer 
 if it didn't begin. 
 
 Sybil. If what didn't begin? 
 Freddie. [Nervously.] Why — why — our dance 
 you know, and supper, and everything. [She 
 goes on with her soup.] I think of nothing but 
 
THE MODERN WAY 285 
 
 you all day and all night — you're just every- 
 thing. 
 
 Sybil. [In a caressing but absent tone.} You 
 silly boy. 
 
 Freddie. I wish you wouldn't call me a silly 
 boy. It doesn't matter, does it? 
 
 Sybil. What doesn't? 
 
 Freddie. Being two years younger. 
 
 Sybil. Not a bit — Royalties are awfully gra- 
 cious to-night, aren't they? [Servant offers 
 champagne.^ Yes, please. 
 
 Freddie. P'raps they twigged, you know — 
 often think they twig an awful lot. 
 
 Sybil. [To Servant who appears, hands a 
 dish.l Yes, please, some sole. 
 
 Freddie. [To Waiter.] No, thank you. 
 
 Sybil. I always eat fish. 
 
 Freddie. So do I, awfully good, you know. 
 But I like to think of 'em swimming about in 
 the sea. 
 
 Sybil. You funny boy. 
 
 Freddie. I wish you wouldn't call me a boy. 
 I — I — Have some more fish? [The dish has 
 been put down between them, she nods and he 
 gives her some more. Goes on nervously.^ You 
 know I've been awfully afraid 
 
 Sybil. Afraid? — I am never afraid of any- 
 thing. [Laughs.l What's the good? 
 
 Freddie. Oh, I say, don't laugh. When you 
 
286 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 are like that you know — one knows you can't be 
 thinking of — of — of what I'm thinking of. 
 
 Sybil. What are you thinking of.'' 
 
 [Looks up at Waiter who takes her plate. 
 
 Waiter. Quail } 
 
 [Freddie maJces a gesture of impatience. 
 
 Sybil. Yes^ please. [Listening.'] I like that 
 waltz — danced it last time with Harry Gregson. 
 
 Waiter. [To Freddie.] Quail^ my lord.^* 
 
 Freddie. [Impatiently.] No, no, that'll do. 
 
 Sybil. You must have some supper. I like 
 men who eat — they are so good-tempered. 
 
 Freddie. [To Waiter.] Oh, say, quail — two. 
 [Helps himself hurriedly. 
 [Exit Waiter.] 
 
 Sybil. Good, aren't they? 
 
 Freddie. Shall I tell you what I was thinking? 
 
 Sybil. [Still eating.] Thinking — when? 
 
 Freddie. The other night when I broke your 
 fan, do you remember? 
 
 Sybil. Rather. I took it to be mended to-day. 
 
 Freddie. I wanted to say something then — 
 it was so awkward breaking it. I wanted you 
 to know and — [She holds out her glass for cham- 
 pagne, he fills it] I couldn't say it. 
 
 Sybil. Why couldn't you? 
 
 Freddie. I don't know. I couldn't — I believe 
 it broke itself on purpose. 
 
 [Takes a long gulp of champagne. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 287 
 
 Waiter. Fruit salad? 
 
 [Sybil nods and is helped to some. 
 [Freddie's plate is taken away, he hasn't 
 
 touched anything. 
 iShe eats her fruit salad and sips cham- 
 pagne at intervals. 
 [He looks at her admiringly. 
 Freddie. I told the mater this morning that 
 you were like a goddess. Do you know what I 
 think sometimes? 
 Sybil. What? 
 
 Freddie. I think that you were once a mar- 
 ble statue in the British Museum, or that you are 
 going to be one or something. 
 
 Sybil. It would be awfully cold in winter, no 
 clothes, you know — and nothing to eat or drink 
 — [sips champagne] — wouldn't suit me. 
 
 Freddie. [Nervously.] I never thought of 
 that. 
 
 Sybil. What did the mater say? 
 Freddie. I like you to call her that. [Pause.] 
 It was a bore breaking your fan, you know — I 
 couldn't say it — I mean what I wanted to say. 
 
 Sybil. Well, you can now. [Reaches out her 
 hand and helps herself to some grapes which are 
 on a dish close to her on the table.] Then per- 
 haps I'll say something to you. 
 
 Freddie. [Huskily. 1 Do you mean that? 
 [She nods.] You know what it is, don't you? 
 
28a THE MODERN WAY 
 
 ^iShe shaJces her head and pushes a grape into 
 her mouth.] I believe you do. [She looks up 
 at him with a little laugh.] I'm awfully gone on 
 you. [He reaches across as if to take her hand. 
 She pulls the left one back and with the right 
 one holds up her little bunch of grapes.] I've 
 been feeling as if I should blow my brains out 
 if it wasn't any good. 
 
 Sybil. Oh, but you wouldn't, you know. 
 
 [Goes on eating grapes. 
 
 Freddie. But it's all right, it is all right, isn't 
 it? [Entreatingly.] Do say it's all right. 
 
 Sybil. [Puzzled.] Is what all right? I don't 
 believe you know a bit what you're talking about. 
 
 Freddie. Yes, I do. I've been in love with 
 you all the time, you know that. Look here, do 
 you think you could marry me? I'm an awful 
 rotter, but I'll do anything you like. You can't 
 think how awfully fond I am of you. 
 
 Sybil. You mustn't talk nonsense, dear boy. 
 You are only a boy, you know. 
 
 Freddie. I am a man — and I love you — I love 
 you. 
 
 Sybil. You have said that. 
 
 Freddie. And I want you to marry me. 
 
 Sybil. Fear I can't. 
 
 Freddie. Why not? 
 
 Sybil. Don't want to. Besides, I'm engaged 
 to Algernon Wake. The Prince was quite pleased 
 
THE MODERN WAY 28? 
 
 — ^we told him. No one knows — only you and 
 the Prince. 
 
 Freddie. Oh, I say. You don't mean it. He 
 doesn't care as I do. He has always been gone 
 on Margaret. 
 
 Sybil. He's gone on me now — {^triumphantly'] 
 — and I'm gone on him — awfully gone. But we 
 must be friends, Freddie, dear, you and I. 
 
 Freddie. I can't. [Rising.] I can't do it. 
 You don't mean it, Sybil .^ Look here, you don't 
 mean it, do you.^ I couldn't stand it. I'd give 
 my life for you — I will. 
 
 Sybil. I don't want it, my dear boy, no use 
 for it. 
 
 Freddie. Oh, but I must. 
 
 Sybil. [Getting up.] We'd better go back 
 — I'll give you another dance presently. 
 
 Freddie. [Gets up.] I can't stay any longer 
 — you made me think you cared — I can't face it. 
 
 Sybil. Nonsense. [With a laugh.] Don't be 
 silly. 
 
 Freddie. Oh, I say 
 
 Enter from ball-room Algernon Wake, Rhoda. 
 
 Algy. [Coming forward.] Oh, you're there. 
 Been looking for you. 
 
 Sybil. I've been having supper with Lord 
 Gaysford. 
 
 Rhoda. Luck for him. 
 
 Algy. Come and have some more with us. 
 
290 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Rhoda. [Evidently remembering her talk rvith 
 Freddie.] Yes, do. 
 
 Sybil. Shall I ? I'm hungry still. Lord Gays- 
 ford doesn't believe in supper. 
 
 Rhoda. Oh! But won't Freddie come too? 
 [Turns to the table at bach before he can 
 answer. He doesn't move. 
 Sybil. [At other table.] This is splendid. 
 
 [With a little laugh. Sits down at sup- 
 per-table, with her back to audience and 
 Freddie. A riotous supper begins. 
 [Freddie left alone, watches them, then 
 sits down half concealed from them on 
 seat well to the left, leans his head 
 forward on his hand, and seems obliv- 
 ious of everything. 
 [The talk is taken up by Jennie and the 
 Duke, on the settee under the palm. 
 Jennie. [To the Duke.] Well, I think you're 
 just wonderful. What you should see in a wild 
 Westerner girl like me I can't think — 'tisn't even 
 as if I were Anna. 
 
 Duke. Ah, why is Miss Anna so often in your 
 thoughts ? 
 
 Jennie. You see, she is my cousin. She 
 lives in New York, and she's charming, and that 
 
 generous 
 
 Duke. She can't be more charming than you, 
 my fair Westerner. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 291 
 
 Jennie. Well, but I thought when you Eng- 
 lish married American girls, you expected us to 
 come from New York or Chicago, or some other 
 place where they raise great heiresses. That's 
 why Anna wouldn't come herself. 
 
 Duke. {^Uneasily.] My dear — \^hesitating'\ — 
 Jennie — I am glad that your money has not been 
 made in those terrible cities. Englishmen don't 
 make it a fixed condition that American brides 
 come from one of them. 
 
 Jennie. [Anxiousli/.] But look here, I want 
 you to understand I'm not rich; we've got miles 
 and miles of land, and I don't know how many 
 head of cattle 
 
 Duke. Ah ! 
 
 Jennie. But there are my four brothers, and 
 they all come before me, they've wives and large 
 families. 
 
 Duke. But my dear young lady, I understood 
 — ^that — ^that — um — well — people don't live as you 
 and your mother have been doing if — if 
 
 Jennie. If they're poor? Why, we're not 
 poor, but we're not rich. Perhaps we have got 
 mixed up — it's Anna who is the great heiress of 
 Calson's Trust. She sent us over; she was afraid 
 to come herself, lest — well, lest she'd meet some 
 one like you, Duke, and she said she didn't want 
 to take her money out of her own country, so she 
 wouldn't come over here till she was married — 
 
292 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 — come for her honeymoon, maybe — meanwhile she 
 proposed that mother and I should see for her 
 what it was like; she insisted on giving mother 
 five thousand pounds, and made her promise she'd 
 spend it all in the four months we were away — 
 go to Court and do the whole thing — go back 
 and tell her all about it — carry back the frocks 
 and all. I didn't want to come — I'm quite con- 
 tent with my backwoods; but mother did, and she 
 wouldn't come without me — I'm glad I did now. 
 Duke. [Dismayed.] I see — I see — I am 
 afraid that things have not been made quite clear, 
 and that you were mistaken for the cautious Miss 
 Anna. 
 
 Jennie. Why — yes — I believe that's it. 
 
 [Burst of laughter from supper-table at 
 
 back. 
 [Freddie starts as he hears it. 
 Duke. [Coldly.] I think it is. 
 Jennie. Now I feel sure of it — for the num- 
 ber of — well I must have been pretty vain to 
 think it was done just for me. ... I wonder 
 if you asked me to marry you because you thought 
 I was Anna. If you did, you needn't worry — 
 I'm not going to hold you to it. 
 
 [Mrs. Calson and Gerald come slowly 
 through curtains on r. from supper- 
 room. 
 Duke. [Formally, and evidently with a strug- 
 
THE MODERN WAY 293 
 
 gle.] My dear — Jennie, I am the most fortunate 
 of men — [Rises.^ Here comes your mother. Per- 
 haps we won't take her into our confidence at this 
 moment — the position is a little new — we might 
 discuss it a little more fully first. 
 
 Jennie. [Looking at him anxiously.] Sup- 
 pose you come and meet me to-morrow at Miss 
 Margaret Wake's — she's asked me to go and see 
 her — we'll walk back from her house and talk 
 it over — and till then I'll just say nothing to 
 mother or any one else. Good-night, Duke. \_To 
 Mrs. Calson, who has come forward.] Mother, 
 I'd like to go home, if you wouldn't mind — I'm 
 tired — I want to be with you — let us go. 
 
 [Says it tenderly with a little break in her 
 voice. 
 
 Mrs. C. [To the Duke.] I see you and Jen- 
 nie have been having supper out here. Well, 
 she's missed something. That room filled with 
 beautiful Englishwomen and distinguished-look- 
 ing men, sitting at those little tables thoroughly 
 enjoying themselves and the way that supper was 
 served was a sight. Why 
 
 Duke. Ah! 
 
 Mrs. C. Why, in New York they may be able 
 to spend more money, but, compared with the way 
 they do it here, it's like the child at school draw- 
 ing on a slate compared to an old master. Of 
 course, with us farther West — why it's different. 
 
294 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Gerald. Not quite so festive at this time of 
 night, eh? 
 
 Jennie. [Wearily, putting her hand on her 
 mother's arm.] Let us go, mother — I'm so tired. 
 [^Turning to Gerald, who has been standing lis- 
 tening to Mrs. Calson's talk with an air of deris- 
 ion.] Mr. Massington, will you see us to our 
 carriage? [With a rather distant manner to the 
 DuKE.j We'll meet to-morrow afternoon. Good- 
 night. 
 
 Duke. Mayn't I come 
 
 Jennie. Not now. 
 
 Duke. [Bows over her hand.] Good-night. 
 
 Mrs. C. Good-night, Duke, it's been a lovely 
 ball, and we are very much obliged to you for 
 getting us invited; the kindness of you English 
 people is wonderful. 
 
 Gerald. [To Rhoda, at other table — he has 
 just seen her.] I'll be back directly — didn't know 
 you were there. 
 
 [Ea:it Gerald Massington, with Mrs. Cal- 
 soN and Jennie. The Duke remains 
 near the settee lost in thought. 
 
 Rhoda. [At the supper-table.] But it wasn't 
 his own wife, you know. [Laughter. 
 
 Voice. Then it didn't matter. 
 
 Sybil. [Laughing.] Nothing matters. 
 
 Duke. [Hearing, and going a step towards 
 table.] Nothing? 
 
THE MODERN WAY 295 
 
 Voice. Nothing, that is the best of it. 
 
 Enter Benson. Business, with tables ^c. 
 Benson. [Going up to Freddie and speaking 
 in a low voice.'] Let me bring you a whisky-and- 
 soda, my lord. 
 
 [Freddie, looking nervously over his shoul- 
 der and seeing that the palms virtually 
 conceal him from the table at which 
 Sybil and her friends are rioting, gives 
 Benson a nod of assent, pulls himself to- 
 gether and sits up, evidently deliberat- 
 ing. Exit Benson. * 
 Rhoda. I didn't see you were there, Duke. 
 Duke. How do you do, Mrs. Massington? 
 
 [iJe goes over to the party at the other 
 
 table but does not sit down. 
 
 [Benson returns with the soda-water, 
 
 which he gives to Freddie, who drinks, 
 
 and evidently revives under its influence. 
 
 Freddie. Do you know the nearest telegraph 
 
 office that is open all night, Benson? I want to 
 
 send a wire to Paris. 
 
 Benson. Charing Cross, my lord. 
 Freddie. I must go. [Looking round uneas- 
 ily 
 
 Benson. Couldn't I send it for you, my lord? 
 You look so tired. 
 
 Freddie. Er — I wish you would. \_Feels in 
 his pocket, pulls out a letter, tears off blank half- 
 
296 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 sheet.] You must get it written out on a Conti- 
 nental form. 
 
 [Feels for pencil, shakes his head. 
 
 Benson. A fountain pen, if your lordship can 
 use it — [pulling it out of his pocket] — I always 
 carry one. 
 
 Freddie. Thank you, Benson. [Writes.] " Tre- 
 mayne, Hotel Bristol, Paris. No good, shall do 
 what I said." [To Benson.] It must go to-night, 
 he starts for Constantinople at nine in the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Benson. I'll take it myself, my lord. Is there 
 anything else I can do? 
 
 Freddie. No, I ought to write a note, but 
 
 Benson. I fear I can't find paper here, my 
 lord, but I have a postcard in my pocket if that's 
 any use. I find it so useful to have one about me. 
 [He pulls out postcard.] 
 
 Freddie. [Taking it with a tragic nod. Writes.] 
 ** No good. Shall do what I said. Good-bye." 
 [Turns it over and directs.] ** Mrs. Merlin, 17b 
 Bruton Street." [Gives it to Benson.] Could you 
 see that they go? 
 
 Benson. I'll take them both myself, my lord. 
 
 [Puts them in pocket. 
 
 Freddie. Thank you, Benson. [Hesitates.] 
 Look here, I should like to give you this. [Gives 
 him hank note. 
 
 Benson. [Looking at him oddly, hut evidently 
 
THE MODERN WAY 297 
 
 not suspecting what is in Freddie's mind.] Thank 
 you very much, my lord. 
 
 Freddie. [Looking round nervously.] Is there 
 
 any way out of this place except ? [Nodding 
 
 towards hall-room and supper-room Exits.] 
 
 Benson. Through this door and the garden, 
 and you'll be home in two minutes. [Unlocks the 
 door in conservatory on l.] I'll come down and 
 lock the garden door after your lordship. 
 
 [Freddie goes a step towards the door, 
 stops and takes a last look at the merry 
 supper-party, which does not see him. While 
 he stands thus, the Duke comes hack from 
 the group supping to the seat heneath the 
 palm, stands with his hack to Freddie, 
 whom he doesn't notice, 
 Duke. [With a bewildered startled air as if he 
 can't helieve it says to himself] — Accepted! 
 
 Freddie. [In a note of despair, as he turns to 
 go off hy the garden door.] Refused! 
 
 [A hurst of laughter comes from the table 
 at the hack. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
ACT III 
 
 Scene. — Margaret's sitting-room in Pont Street. 
 Small and pretty. Telephone os table, well 
 down stage; mullion window at back. 
 Green tree seen in back garden.^ 
 
 Time. — Next afternoon. 
 
 [Margaret alone in out-door dress, hat, 
 SfC, much agitated; reads a note, rings 
 the bell. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Margaret. Are you quite sure that no one else 
 called ? 
 
 Servant. No one, miss. 
 
 Margaret. And there are no more telegrams,^ 
 
 Servant. No, miss. [Ea;it Servant. 
 
 [Margaret alone. Takes off hat, 8fC. 
 
 Business. Re-enter Servant, announcing 
 
 Servant. Mr. Algernon Wake. 
 
 Enter Algy; looks rather foolish and 
 bothered through the interview. 
 Margaret. Oh, Algy, I'm so glad you have 
 come. 
 
 Algy. Why, what's the matter.? 
 Margaret. Have you seen Freddie Gaysford? 
 299 
 
300 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Algy. No, haven't looked for him. 
 
 Margaret. You don't know anything about 
 him? 
 
 Algy. Don't want to — I saw him last night. 
 
 Margaret. [Earnestly.] Did he look happy? 
 
 Algy. [Almost with a grin.] No — o. He 
 didn't. 
 
 Margaret. Oh ! 
 
 AiGY. [Still with a grin.] Sybil refused him. 
 
 Margaret. Oh! What will he do? [Agitated.] 
 
 Algy. P'raps he'll go off his chump — he won't 
 have far to go — he isn't up to much, you know. 
 
 Margaret. Algy, you don't know Freddie; 
 there's so much in him. 
 
 Algy. No one would think it. 
 
 Margaret. He doesn't wear his heart on his 
 sleeve for daws to peck at. 
 
 Algy. Keeps it in his manly breast, eh? 
 
 Margaret. [Earnestly.] And it's full of the 
 right feelings. He cares for the right things, and 
 he does them. There's no one like Freddie. 
 
 Algy. [Irritably.] I'm glad to hear it, we don't 
 want another of them. 
 
 Margaret. Algy! He's my friend. 
 
 Algy. All right. Beg pardon. We're cousins 
 — relations are always rude. 
 
 Margaret. [Forgivingly.] Of course. 
 
 Algy. Besides, I didn't come to talk about 
 Freddie. There's awful news about Uncle Edward. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 801 
 
 Margaret. Uncle Edward! Oh, what is it? 
 I've heard nothing. 
 
 Algy. They say he's going to get married — 
 it's all over the town. 
 
 Margaret. Going to get married ! You said 
 it was something awful. 
 
 Algy. It is, for last night I got engaged to 
 Sybil Dolwyn. 
 
 Margaret. You did! 
 
 Algy. Of course I did. 
 
 Margaret. I hoped she'd marry Freddie Gays- 
 ford. 
 
 Algy. Well, she can't; she's going to marry 
 me. 
 
 Margaret. How could she refuse Freddie! 
 
 Algy. Easily done. 
 
 Margaret. Who is Uncle Edward going to 
 marry .f* Mrs. Merlin? 
 
 Algy. Not he ! He's going to marry the Amer- 
 ican girl. 
 
 Margaret. What, that nice Jennie Calson? 
 
 Algy. Well, you may call her nice, and perhaps 
 he does; I don't. . . . Don't you see that if 
 Uncle Edward gets married, I may never stand in 
 his shoes, and Sybil mayn't think the chance worth 
 considering. 
 
 Margaret. Oh, but you shouldn't count on 
 dead men's shoes; it's so unkind. 
 
 Algy. Sybil will 
 
302 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Margaret. But doesn't she love you? 
 
 Algy. Don't know. She's going to marry me 
 because she's thinks that some day I shall be a 
 duke. I was going to marry her because she's 
 rolling in money — corkscrew, you know. 
 
 Margaret. Oh ! 
 
 Algy. I like her very well, and she likes me 
 very well, but I've stated the main facts. 
 
 Margaret. I think it's dreadful. 
 
 Algy. I don't, quite fair, we shall each get 
 what we want and jog along very well: nice girl, 
 plenty of nerve — sha'n't be dull with her — never 
 quite certain what she'll do next — I like that sort 
 of woman, keeps one going. 
 
 Margaret. Freddie loved her. {Passionateli/.'\ 
 He didn't care a bit about her money 
 
 Algy. Didn't want it — plenty of his own — 
 no uncle to worry him. 
 
 Margaret. Yes, but if she hadn't had a penny, 
 and he hadn't, it would have been just the same, 
 he loved her. Freddie is worlds better than you, 
 
 Algy. 
 
 Algy. Very well, I really can't help it. 
 
 Margaret. People think far too much about 
 money nowadays. I wish there wasn't any in the 
 world. 
 
 Algy. I don't, and you'd be precious uncom- 
 fortable without it. But look here, do talk sensi- 
 bly, there's a good girl; I came to consult you 
 
THE MODERN WAY 80$ 
 
 about Uncle Edward. I don't want Sybil to chuck 
 me. 
 
 Margaret. If she only accepted you for the 
 reason you say, it would be a good thing if she 
 did. 
 
 Algy. My dear Margaret, I think you're go- 
 ing off your chump. Upon my soul, you're as bad 
 as Gaysford. 
 
 Margaret. [^Imploring and evidently unable 
 to attend to what he is saying.'] Algy, don't be 
 tiresome — but do go and find out if he's at his 
 rooms, or at the barracks, if he's anywhere, and 
 send me a telegram or ring me up, and — and — 
 I'll find out about Uncle Edward for you. I'll 
 telephone to Miss Calson, I can't very well ask 
 her if it's true, but I'll ask her to come and see 
 me and perhaps she'll tell me then. And Oh! I 
 wish you'd be a real true man and marry for the 
 right reason — the only right reason — because you 
 love some one dearly, not because she has money 
 — there's nothing so splendid in the world, Algy 
 dear, as a great unselfish love — You are my cou- 
 sin and 
 
 Algy. I say that'll do, I can imagine the rest. 
 I'll go and find out about Gaysford and let you 
 know — daresay he's only taking a day off and will 
 turn up at the Lavingtons' to-night or somewhere 
 else to-morrow. 
 
 Enter Servant, announcing 
 
804 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Servant. Mrs. and Miss Calson. 
 
 Algy. [Aside to Margaret.] Oh, I say, now 
 you can find out. Perhaps she won't tell you be- 
 fore me 
 
 Margaret. Of course not — and do go and find 
 out about Freddie — I'll do anything in the world 
 for you if you'll find Freddie — and telephone any- 
 thing you hear. 
 
 Enter Mrs. and Miss Calson. 
 
 Mrs. C. [To Margaret.] Miss Wake, I 
 couldn't resist doing myself the great pleasure of 
 paying you a visit. [Shakes hands.} 
 
 Margaret. So kind of you. 
 
 [She and Jennie ea; change greetings. 
 
 Jennie. Mother said she would bring me 
 and • 
 
 Mrs. C. Why, Mr. Wake, how do you do? 
 
 Algy. How do? Been paying my cousin a 
 friendly visit. How are you. Miss Calson? En- 
 joy the dance last night? 
 
 Mrs. C. [Before Jennie can reply.] I did. 
 I thought it was a lovely house and the supper 
 just perfect. When I go back to America I shall 
 describe the way that everything is done here 
 from beginning to end. Why, that ball last night 
 was worth coming all the way to see. In New 
 York they think they know what they are about 
 when they entertain, but I can assure you 
 
 Algy. That we go one better, eh? Always 
 
THE MODERN WAY 305 
 
 like doing that myself, so cheering, I hope Miss 
 Calson enjoyed it? 
 
 {^Loohs towards Jennie. 
 
 Mrs. C. [^Begins before Jennie can answer.'] 
 Well now, I don't believe she did as much as she 
 ought. The Duke was very kind, but Jennie was 
 tired, and insisted on coming away before it was 
 over. He had taken great trouble to get us in- 
 vited and he looked disappointed, [Margaret and 
 Algy exchange loohs.^ for he wanted to give us 
 a good time, as he always does, and he did me, but 
 I do think that here in London young people don't 
 enjoy themselves as much as we older ones 
 
 Algy. Awful shame, isn't it.^ I mean awfully 
 nice for the older people, young people come to 
 it by-and-by, you know; something to look for- 
 ward to — [edging towards the door.'] Sorry, I've 
 got to go. Good-bye. You shall hear from me 
 presently, Margaret, suppose you'll be here? 
 
 Margaret. Yes — [^eagerly] I shall — be here. 
 
 [Exit Algy. 
 
 Mrs. C. Jennie says you'd ask her to come and 
 see you one afternoon, and she wanted to come to- 
 day, so I thought I would pay my respects to your 
 Mamma who very kindly invited us one day when 
 we were not able to come. I am not sure that Jen- 
 nie wanted me with her 
 
 Enter Servant, announcing 
 
 Servant. The Duke of Lexham. 
 
806 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Enter the Duke. 
 
 Margaret. Uncle Edward — [greeting him] I 
 am so glad to see you. 
 
 Duke. How do you do, my dear.^ Safely back 
 from the Wimbledon dance .f* [Turns to the Cal- 
 soNS. Jennie is rather embarrassed but tries not 
 to show it. They shake hands.] How do you do, 
 Mrs. Calson? 
 
 Mrs. C. [To Duke.] Why this is quite an un- 
 expected pleasure and gives me a chance of thank- 
 ing you again for getting us that invitation for 
 last night. It's a pity Jennie was tired and we 
 had to come away rather soon, but I can assure 
 you that I enjoyed it just immensely. 
 
 Duke. Ah? — [Ta Jennie.] I hope you are 
 better? [Goes towards her. 
 
 Jennie. Yes, thank you — I'm better. 
 
 Mrs. C. [As if she saru that she would not get 
 his attention, turns to Margaret.] I understand 
 your Mamma was not at home — I hope she is 
 quite well? 
 
 Margaret. Oh yes, thank you, she is at the 
 Albert Hall bazaar. There's one for her best 
 charity and she has a stall. 
 
 Mrs. C. Well now, isn't that lovely? I wish 
 I had gone — what is she selling? 
 
 Margaret. Wooden effigies of living celebrities 
 — she has discovered a genius — no one else knows 
 anything about him. 
 
THE MODERN WAY S07 
 
 Mrs. C. Why! I'd give anything to be there 
 — did you hear that, Jennie? I'd love to buy 
 some; dead celebrities are so dull, but your living 
 ones just now are splendid and you have so many 
 to choose from, it's just wonderful. 
 
 Duke. Eh — why don't you go and pick up a 
 few before it is too late 
 
 Mrs. C. I expect there'd be such a crowd I 
 wouldn't find my way to the stall and when I did, 
 perhaps they'd all be snapped up. 
 
 Jennie. [Who while Mrs. Calson has been 
 speaking has edged towards Margaret, says to 
 her aside in an almost passionate tone.] Oh, if 
 you could take her way — I want to talk to him 
 
 Margaret. [Surprised, looks round, then as if 
 she twigged the whole situation.] Is your car- 
 riage at the door. Uncle Edward.'' 
 
 Duke. Yes, do you want it? 
 
 [Turns to Jennie again, she has gone to- 
 wards him after speaking to Margaret. 
 
 Margaret. I know you'll lend it me. [To 
 Mrs. Calson.] Why shouldn't I take you to the 
 bazaar? Mother would be delighted, I know the 
 way to the stall — I should be back in ten minutes, 
 and I daresay Miss Calson would take care of 
 Uncle Edward while we went? 
 
 Jennie. But our motor is outside, it would get 
 there quicker still. 
 
308 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Duke. Splendid! {To Mrs. Calson.] You'll 
 be able to buy up every celebrity in London — and 
 they are sure to be cheap — celebrities are nowa- 
 days. 
 
 Jennie. It's a real chance for you, mother. 
 
 Mrs. C. [Rather surprised at finding herself 
 hustled. '\ Well, now 
 
 Margaret. [Takes up her hat.^ Let us come 
 at once, where are my gloves? We'll fly there. 
 
 Mrs. C. Well — if you think she would be 
 pleased 
 
 Margaret. She'll be charmed. {To the Duke 
 
 and Jennie.) An revoir. [Opening the door, 
 
 [Exeunt Margaret and Mrs. Calson. 
 
 [Duke and Jennie are alone. He looks 
 
 at her inquiringly, she stands with her 
 
 back to the mantelpiece facing him for 
 
 a minute. 
 
 Jennie. I hoped to see you — I expect you had 
 my note asking you to be here? [He nods. 
 
 [Going a step fortvard.] It was splendid of Miss 
 Wake to take mother away. I've been think all 
 
 night — I've been thinking hard [There's a 
 
 note almost of emotion in her voice.'] I want you 
 to understand that I like you for the way you 
 stood by what you'd said last night — after you'd 
 found out I wasn't Anna. 
 
 Duke. My dear young lady — I stood by what 
 I hoped might be my good fortune. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 809 
 
 Jennie. You must just let me do the talking 
 for one minute — it was splendid of you; but I 
 wouldn't marry you for all the world. You mustn't 
 think I'm not grateful — most American girls like 
 marrying dukes — I know one, Katherine Fiffer 
 she's called, who says she owes it to her father 
 to come over and invest his money in a title and 
 lands and all that, and she'll do it. But there 
 aren't many of you who would stand by a sim- 
 ple Western girl when they found out she didn't 
 know for certain that she'd a thousand dollars 
 of her own; and that you were one of them, and 
 willing to do it just for the sake of your 
 word 
 
 Duke. For the sake of a most charming 
 woman 
 
 Jennie. [As if she hadn't heard.] I'll never 
 forget. Since I came to England I've had nine- 
 teen offers of marriage of one sort or another, but 
 now I feel that not one of them has been made to 
 me, they've all been made to Anna's millions with 
 which I got mixed up. It's a good lesson for one's 
 vanity 
 
 Duke. My dear — Jennie — if I may call you 
 that — let me speak — I did think you were an 
 heiress, I own up. I told my nephew Algernon, 
 that I should be delighted if you married him. 
 He hasn't any brains, and he hasn't any money, 
 and he'll never do a day's work, and I thought 
 
310 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Jennie. He might marry me? It was kind. 
 
 Duke. I ought to be horsewhipped. 
 
 Jennie. [Jw a quick half -passionate, half-pa- 
 thetic voice J] And that was why you asked us to 
 Lexham, I expect.^ Why it was like " ' Will you 
 walk into my parlour.^' said the spider to the 
 
 fly." 
 
 Duke. {^Taking no notice.^ And when you 
 came — or rather, when you had been there a day 
 or two, I thought you the most charming girl I 
 had even seen in my life, so fresh and natural, and 
 unspoilt, that upon my life, meeting you after the 
 London women was like walking out of a crowded 
 ball-room down a country lane on an early spring 
 morning. But it never occurred to me to think of 
 you myself, I've had my day, I'm fifty-seven 
 years old. 
 
 Jennie. YStill pathetic."] It's just a lovely age 
 — it's what makes you so interesting. I've thought 
 you like no one else here, and haven't cared a bit 
 about who you were or anything but just you, and 
 those fifty-seven years you've lived — I knew how 
 picturesque they must have been 
 
 Duke. Jennie! [^Goes on explaining.'] I don't 
 pretend that I haven't thought of the — the fortune 
 that I understood was yours. Er — er — I thought 
 it would be a good thing for Algernon to have 
 it 
 
 Jennie. It would be just the worst — ^he ought 
 
THE MODERN WAY 811 
 
 to be made to work — it would make a man of him 
 — but they don't know how to do it over here. 
 
 Duke. — And Lexham — what with the reduction 
 of rents and life charges and all the thousand and 
 one things that are a nightmare to property-own- 
 ers — is shrinking and falling to bits for want of 
 — of — of stoking — I think that is what you call 
 it 
 
 Jennie. [With a little smile.'] For want of an 
 heiress to prop it up. 
 
 Duke. Well, for want of money from some- 
 where, to put it plainly. 
 
 Jennie. I see, I see — I was just the chance 
 for Lexham 
 
 Duke. Yes, I confess I wanted your money 
 for the place — but I wanted you for myself, I'm 
 more in love than I have been since I was twenty- 
 five — when I married — and had ten good years — 
 [with feeling in his voice] I've never seen any 
 woman I could put in her place till I met you, she 
 would understand your being in it 
 
 Jennie. If I were Anna I believe I would be 
 there 
 
 Duke. [Going forward.] Be there, without be- 
 ing Anna, if you can bring yourself to take me — 
 if you care 
 
 Jennie. Why, yes, I could care, but I'm not 
 going to marry you, it would just be the worst 
 mistake that either of us could make, and presently 
 
312 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 we'd look at each other and we'd know it better 
 than any one in the world. I couldn't live the 
 life that all of you live over here. 
 
 Duke. But you said you liked the life at Lex- 
 ham. 
 
 Jennie. I think it's beautiful, it's a living pic- 
 ture, but it isn't one that I want to be in. I've 
 liked seeing it all, I'll like remembering it, just 
 as I'll like remembering all I've done over here, 
 living at Claridge's, wearing clothes such as I 
 never had before, going to King Edward's Court, 
 and your Universities and Ascot, and places like 
 last night — why it's been a dream, but I couldn't 
 take it as my life — I couldn't take even Lexham 
 as that. 
 
 Duke. Why not? 
 
 Jennie. I couldn't do it. I couldn't live in 
 a house with as many rooms, with all those beau- 
 tiful things that have got to be just so, and just 
 there; or with all that crowd of servants about. I 
 couldn't wear my best clothes all day long; why 
 they'd worry me, and as for sitting down to all 
 those long meals every day with white table-cloths 
 and servants dressed up waiting on me, or doing 
 all the things that people do in that position — 
 I'm not made that way. I'd feel as if I were in 
 prison, or play-acting a piece that never came to 
 an end, or in a wax-work — I wouldn't feel alive, 
 I wouldn't feel able to breathe. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 313 
 
 Duke. But what sort of life do you live, my 
 dear? 
 
 Jennie. Why, we just live on the land, and 
 our house is a long low one, and the room we are 
 in mostly is a large one with high rafters and a 
 stone floor and sheep-skin mats about, and a door 
 that opens on to the world that stretches miles and 
 miles away. We never use the best parlour unless 
 strangers come or there's something out of the 
 common going on. And no one comes over our 
 threshold of the sort you see here in London. 
 
 Duke. They'll come 
 
 Jennie. Yes, we know that. The cities are 
 creeping nearer but they're not there yet. The 
 planters and growers and cattle-ranchers know 
 that the old life is coming to an end, but I wouldn't 
 give up a single day of it — I couldn't — {^reaching 
 out her hands.] ... I believe I love you a 
 little. [He goes a step forward but she keeps 
 him hack] — but it's only as one loves in a dream 
 or as one might love some one on Sundays. The 
 man I live my life with must be for the waking 
 time and the week-days. He must wear rough 
 clothes and thick boots, and work with his hands 
 and be ready with his fists, and love the open bet- 
 ter than indoors, and know the sky and the ground 
 and every sign of the weather, and every beast he 
 owns and its name — and everything about it — 
 [struggles not to break down]. I'm going back 
 
S14 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 to the life I want to live, but I'll remember you 
 
 — I'll just remember you all my life 
 
 Duke. Come to me for all my life 
 
 Jennie. No. I couldn't. And you'll get to see 
 
 how wise I am 
 
 Duke. Wise, my dear? I love you 
 
 Jennie. No, you're just surprised — you're 
 taken with the New World view — but you wouldn't 
 like it always 
 
 Duke. [Reflectively.'] Perhaps 
 
 Jennie. [As if it were all painful.] Why no, 
 not perhaps — but certain — and now I'd like to end 
 all this — we're friends — and we'll always be 
 friends — at heart 
 
 Duke. You've taught me that money isn't every- 
 thing. [Takes her hands and kisses them.] Some 
 day I shall come out to the West and see you — 
 if you'll let me. 
 
 Jennie. Why yes, I'll let you do that. [With 
 a pathetic laugh.] You'll like it, but you'll feel 
 as much out of it as I would riding my rough pony 
 down Rotten Row, though I'd like that — [Sud- 
 denly, as if unable to bear it longer] I want to go 
 home, will you tell Miss Wake? Oh, but she's 
 gone off with Mother in the motor. 
 
 Duke. Jennie, are you sure 
 
 Jennie. Yes, I'm sure and I want to go back 
 to the hotel right away. [Turns as if to go.] 
 
 Duke. Let me drive you. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 315 
 
 Enter Servant with a telegram on a tray, looks 
 round, evidently surprised not to see Margaret. 
 Jennie. Miss Wake will be here directly. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Oh! Here she is 
 
 Re-enter Margaret. 
 Margaret. [To Jennie.] Mrs. Calson has 
 sent back the motor for you^ but I hope you won't 
 
 go just yet 
 
 Jennie. Why, yes, I must, the Duke was going 
 to drive me, but now we can go along separately. 
 Let me come and see you another day. [To the 
 Duke.] And I would rather you drove me some 
 other day if you don't mind. Good-bye [to Mar- 
 garet.] 
 
 Duke. I'll see you into the motor if I may. 
 [To Margaret as he is about to go with Jennie] 
 
 I'll come back in a minute 
 
 [Exit Duke with Jennie, re-enter Serv- 
 ant, hands Margaret the telegram, 
 and exit. She opens it, gives a little cry. 
 Margaret. [Reads aloud with a puzzled azr.] 
 " Am coming to you this morning, Freddie — 
 [looks at envelope. '\ Redirected at Lancaster 
 Lodge, sent first by mistake to Lansdowne 
 Lodge." I don't understand. [Agitated."] 
 Re-enter the Duke. 
 Uncle Edward, do you understand this tele- 
 gram.^ It's from Freddie Gaysford, I expected 
 
316 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 a telegram from him this morning at Wimble- 
 don, but it didn't come. He was to have come 
 here this afternoon, but he hasn't 
 
 Duke. ^Looking at telegram.] Evidently for- 
 got the address. 
 
 Margaret. And he's probably wandering 
 about Wimbledon Common trying to find me, oh! 
 Where is he} 
 
 Duke. He'll turn up, my dear, when he's 
 tired of trying to find you there — I daresay he'll 
 
 be here directly 
 
 Re-enter Servant, mith another telegram. 
 
 Perhaps this is from him. 
 
 Margaret. [Tearing it open.] *' Just arrived 
 at Folkestone, coming to you immediately, Tre- 
 mayne," Mr. Tremayne! Why he started for 
 Constantinople last night. [Pause.] Oh! do you 
 
 think [agitated] — can it be about Freddie? 
 
 I know he is miserable, for Sybil Dolwyn refused 
 him last night. 
 
 Duke. It's lucky for him that she did. 
 
 Margaret. She accepted Algy 
 
 Duke. I know — I thought she would do for 
 him — but norv — [seriousli/^ I'm sorry for it, and 
 Lexham will be sorry by-and-by, she's not the 
 right sort. 
 
 Margaret. Algy heard that you were going 
 to be married. Uncle Edward — ^to Jennie Calson. 
 
 Duke. I was last night. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 817 
 
 Margaret. Oh! I'm glad 
 
 Duke. But she has thrown me over — ^just 
 now. 
 
 Margaret. Thrown you over — ^Why? 
 
 Duke. Because I'm not good enough for her, 
 she wants a man who wears thick boots and rough 
 clothes and a wideawake. She thinks that I am 
 a loafer with too many luxuries — she's wrong; 
 my class, if it does its duty, often works much 
 harder than — than the one she admires. But she's 
 a fine creature. I would rather not talk about it, 
 though she's given me more to think about than 
 I've had for twenty-five years. 
 
 Margaret. [Putting her hand on his arm.] 
 It's always good to love the best — ^be glad you 
 have done that, dear Uncle Edward 
 [Pause.] I wish you would talk about Freddie, I 
 am so anxious about him. [Suddenly remember- 
 ing.] He asked me to shake hands last night — 
 it frightens me, he meant — Oh! why didn't I 
 understand ? — [Emotion.] 
 
 Duke. [Looking round sharply, but speaking 
 with tenderness.] He's a nice lad — are you fond 
 of him, my dear? 
 
 Margaret. [Half turning away.] He's my 
 
 friend — of course I like him 
 
 Enter Servant with a note on tray, which 
 he hands to Margaret. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
318 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Duke. P'raps that's from him. 
 
 Margaret. Oh no! — ^may I open it? It's 
 from Mrs. Merlin. [Reads.] "I am so anx- 
 ious about dear Freddy Gaysford, do you know 
 anything about him? [Agitated,] Oh! — [Rings 
 the bell.] 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 [Margaret goes to writing-table on l., and 
 writes.] 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, am miserable." [To Serv- 
 ant.] Send this note at once to Mrs. Merlin 
 by hand. [Exit Servant.] [To Duke.] Oh, 
 do go to Grosvenor Place and see if Lady Gays- 
 ford knows anything — and come back and tell me 
 — I would go myself but I can't — [agitated] — if 
 she only had a telephone — but she won't have one 
 in the house. 
 
 Duke. Quite right — a telephone is as bad as 
 a motor — I'll go this minute. [TaJces both her 
 hands; kisses her forehead. Is going, then turns 
 back.] Don't tell Algy I'm not going to marry 
 Jennie — I want to see what happens — don't tell 
 him yet 
 
 Margaret. I won't. Come back and tell me 
 about Freddie — I am so unhappy — and you are 
 such an old dear — I love you. Uncle Edward. 
 
 [Eait Duke. 
 [Margaret alone, takes off her hat, throws 
 herself on a chair. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 319 
 
 Margaret. \^E jo claiming passionately^. Oh, 
 Freddie, Freddie, if you would only come! [The 
 telephone bell rings. She flies to it. Business at 
 the telephone.] Yes, it's I, Margaret. Oh, Algy! 
 He's not been there all day? I know that, he's 
 been to Wimbledon, but I thought — he ought to 
 have come back before this — [listens to telephone] 
 — Oh, yes, I hope he'll turn up — thank you for 
 going . . . Oh! yes. . . . What about 
 Sybil.? Oh! They've switched it off! 
 
 [Comes back centre of stage, sits down 
 and evidently thinks anxiously. 
 Enter Servant, announcing 
 
 Servant. Lord Gaysford. 
 
 Margaret. [Starting to her feet.] Oh! 
 Enter Freddie. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Oh, Freddie, Freddie, I am so glad you've come. 
 Oh, Freddie dear! 
 
 Freddie. [Gravely, rvith a long sigh of relief.] 
 It is good to see you. 
 
 Margaret. Oh, dear Freddie! 
 
 Freddie. Dear Margaret! 
 
 Margaret. Your telegram to Wimbledon went 
 to the wrong address — I only had it half an hour 
 ago — sent back 
 
 Freddie. / went to the wrong address — 
 walked about the Common for hours, then I found 
 the right place — you had just gone. 
 
320 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Margaret. And then? 
 
 Freddie. Then I walked about the Common 
 again to find a seclTided portion to which — I 
 could return — I'm going back there. 
 
 Margaret. [Anxiously.l Oh! going back? 
 
 Freddie. [He nods.^ It's so quiet there. But 
 I had to see you first. 
 
 Margaret. I knew you would come. 
 
 Freddie. Rossetti and Browning didn't do 
 much for me. 
 
 Margaret. Tell me what she said. 
 
 Freddie. She's engaged to Wake. 
 
 Margaret. [With a sound of sympathy.'] I 
 know. Algy has been here. Uncle Edward told 
 him he ought to marry some one with money. 
 
 Freddie. She has tons — from the corkscrew. 
 Still I could give her some things that he can't. 
 
 Margaret. And you are so different Oh, 
 
 I can't think how she could refuse you. 
 
 Freddie. That's only because you like me, 
 dear. [Pause, 
 
 Margaret. What are you going to do? 
 
 Freddie. This. [Stretches open his side poc- 
 ket, lifts a pistol a little way out of it, and drops 
 it bach.] I bought it in Wigmore Street this 
 morning. 
 
 Margaret. Freddie! You won't, really? 
 
 Freddie. There's nothing else. If there was 
 
THE MODERN WAY 321 
 
 a war I should go to it; but there isn't — there 
 won't be one in spite of the papers — there's only 
 this. 
 
 Margaret. Oh no, no, you mustn't! 
 
 Freddie. I've written to Mrs. Merlin. 
 
 Margaret. I know, I had a letter from her 
 just now, she's miserable. 
 
 Freddie. She's a dear woman; and I wired 
 to Tremayne. 
 
 Margaret. I know! He's on his way back. 
 
 Freddie. How splendid of him! 
 
 Margaret. But your mother? 
 
 Freddie. Dear Mum! I must write to her — 
 it's better that she should have the shock, it will 
 at least save her the miserable anticipation. 
 
 Margaret. But it's too dreadful. {^Reaches 
 out her hands in despair.^ Oh, what are you 
 looking at.f* 
 
 Freddie. Only at the tree in the back garden. 
 I wonder how it got there. What tree is it.? 
 
 Margaret. [Impatiently.'] I don't know — I 
 don't care — we found it there when we took the 
 house. [Crosses stage.] Freddie, you're not going 
 back to Wimbledon.? 
 
 Freddie. Not for an hour or two — it ought 
 to be done in the dark, you know. There's no 
 place nearer — the parks are overrun. 
 
 Margaret. But you couldn't do it in the sub- 
 
S22 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 urbs [shudders'^ . . . And it won't be dark 
 for a long time. [They hold each other* s hands 
 and sit side by side. Pause.]^ I can feel the im- 
 mensities near us. \_Pause.] [Very gravely.} 
 Suppose we have some tea. 
 
 Freddie. I should like it. [She rings. 
 
 Margaret. You must give me that horrid 
 pistol. 
 
 Freddie. No . . . [Firmly.] I can't. 
 
 Margaret. Only to hide in the coal-scuttle 
 while we are together, J am so afraid of it. You 
 don't want to kill me, even by accident, do you, 
 Freddie.? 
 
 Freddie. No, dear, not for the world. Let 
 me put it there. ^ 
 
 [She lifts up the lid of the brass coal- 
 scuttle and he puts it carefully inside. 
 
 Margaret. [With a sigh of relief.] It can't 
 go off by itself? 
 
 Freddie. No — not in the coal-scuttle. 
 Enter Servant with tea. 
 [They sit on either side of the tea-table, 
 business of making it, ^c. 
 
 Freddie. It is good to be here. It's an aw- 
 fully nice room. 
 
 Margaret. And this is its first week. . 
 Two lumps? 
 
 Freddie. Only one. . . . You'll see all 
 your own friends here? 
 
THE MODERN WAY 323 
 
 Margaret. I shall never have one like you. . . 
 Let me see, you do like cream.'* 
 
 Freddie. Not to much. [Takes the cup. She 
 offers him bread and butter; he shakes his head. 
 He looks round. ^ I shall never see it again, 
 Margaret. 
 
 Margaret. We might have had such happy 
 hours here. 
 
 Freddie. Who did those pictures? 
 
 Margaret. I forget his name — one of Whist- 
 ler's disciples. 
 
 Freddie. He was an awful duffer. 
 
 Margaret. What, Whistler? 
 
 Freddie. No, his disciple. And the books, 
 what are they? [Nodding towards the little book- 
 shelf.] 
 
 Margaret. Modern poets. I collect them, 
 you know. 
 
 Freddie. Lucky chaps — but I wonder you 
 don't die — I found the big ones hard enough. 
 
 [Pause. 
 
 Margaret. Freddie, don't you think it's 
 wicked to put an end to a great intellect — to a 
 great career, perhaps? 
 
 Freddie. What do you mean? 
 
 Margaret. You might win some battle for 
 your country — you might be Commander-in- 
 Chief. 
 
 Freddie. They don't want one now. And they 
 
S24 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 are always wanting to reduce the army — I am 
 helping — it's better than being disbanded — they 
 only care for Territorials now. 
 
 Margaret. But it is wonderful how events 
 seem to march out to meet each other. 
 Perhaps the papers will manage to bring on a 
 war. Couldn't you wait and see? 
 
 Freddie. No, dear — you can never trust them. 
 l^LooJcing at her.] . . . Your eyes are very 
 blue, Margaret. I thought so in the Park — do 
 you remember how you and I went out to meet 
 each other last Wednesday? [She nods.] It was 
 that day you talked of some artist no one had 
 heard of. 
 
 Margaret. [Nods.'\ I told you of the picture 
 in his studio at Hampstead, and you said Hamp- 
 stead was the end of the world. 
 
 Freddie. I wish we had gone. . . . We 
 never shall now. . . . Primrose Hill is 
 somewhere near it, Symonds told me he went 
 there once. ... I can't believe it's all 
 over. [Gets up. 
 
 Margaret. No, no — it mustn't be over. 
 
 Freddie. It's time to go. 
 
 Margaret. Not yet, not yet. 
 
 Freddie. And the worst of it is she won't 
 care 
 
 Margaret. Oh, she will — it'll kill her. 
 
 Freddie. I don't believe it will even give her 
 
THE MODERN WAY 8^5 
 
 neuralgia. She's not like you — if she had been 
 like you, Margaret \^Turns away. 
 
 Margaret. You mustn't — mustn't go. 
 
 Freddie. It's time. 
 
 Margaret. [^Passionately.'] You mustn't go, 
 it would be wicked, cruel, cowardly — don't do it 
 — don't do it. 
 
 Freddie. [Surprised J] I should look such a 
 fool if I didn't — now; think of that, dear. Tre- 
 mayne has chucked Constantinople, and Mrs. 
 Merlin would never believe me again — and I 
 bought it on purpose — [nodding at scuttle']. I 
 should have done it last night if I'd had one by 
 me. 
 
 Margaret. Oh! What does it all matter? 
 You mustn't throw away your beautiful life. 
 
 [Puts out her hands entreatingly. 
 
 Freddie. No one else thinks it beautiful — 
 only you. [Takes her hands, and looking into 
 her eyes a change seems to come over him."] 
 There's no one like you, Margaret. 
 
 Margaret. Yes — there's Sybil. 
 
 Freddie. She's heartless, and the strange thing 
 is that to-day, when I ought to feel so much, it 
 seems as if a wave had swept over me — it's Ros- 
 setti perhaps — it has carried all that I felt for 
 her away — that makes it so hard. 
 
 Margaret. Oh, but you loved her so only yes- 
 terday — ^you said she was like a goddess 
 
826 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Freddie. A goddess has no heart, go and look 
 at them in the British Museum — they are made of 
 stone. 
 
 Margaret. — or an Empress. 
 
 Freddie. She is a pig. 
 
 Margaret. A pig! 
 
 Freddie. She ate too much supper. She ate 
 two suppers — one after the other. 
 
 Margaret. Women often do — you mustn't 
 judge her so harshly, dear — I can't believe she 
 doesn't care. 
 
 Freddie. You can't because — there's no one 
 like you in the world. I never cared for her as 
 I do for you — why didn't you love me, Margaret 
 — Margaret, why didn't you love me? I should 
 never have looked at her then. [Telephone bell. 
 
 Margaret. You never wanted me to — in that 
 way 
 
 Freddie. I always did. [Sadly.] I never 
 really loved any one but you — if you had only 
 cared for me — Margaret — my Margaret — ^why 
 
 didn't you care [Telephone bell again.Ji It 
 
 was because I thought you didn't — oh! damn that 
 bell. 
 
 Margaret. I did — I do. Oh, that bell! 
 [Bell rings furiously as they are in the act of 
 embracing, and with a desperate exclamation 
 Margaret flies to it.] [At the telephone.] 
 Yes. . . . [To Freddie.] Oh, it's Algy. 
 
THE MODERN WAY 327 
 
 [To telephone.] Yes, it's I, Margaret. Freddie 
 is here. . . . What. . . . Oh, how 
 cruel! Sybil says she was only joking? . 
 But she was not, she refused him! He was 
 broken-hearted — till just now. . . . Yes . 
 What ! She's not— Wait . . . I'll ask him, 
 he's here. Wait. [Turning to Freddie.] Sybil 
 says she's engaged to you; that she accepted you 
 last night at supper. And she was only laugh- 
 ing at Algy. [With feeling in her voice, into 
 telephone.] Ring me up again in five minutes 
 and I'll tell you what Freddie says. [Gets up 
 and goes to Freddie.] Freddie dear, you are 
 free, don't think that I will hold you. You must 
 go to her — you must go to her. You are free — 
 your are free 
 
 Freddie. But Margaret! Margaret — it's you 
 
 I love — you 
 
 Enter Lady Gaysford, followed by Tremaynb 
 and Mrs. Merlin, all agitated. 
 
 Lady G. Oh, Freddie, Freddie, we've been 
 looking for you everywhere; I was afraid that 
 
 Freddie. I've been having tea with Margaret. 
 
 Tremayne. But, look here, what does this 
 mean.? They woke me up with your confounded 
 wire at seven this morning — only went to bed at 
 six — and instead of going to Constantinople, I 
 rushed back, because I thought you had put a pis- 
 tol to your head. 
 
S28 THE MODERN WAY 
 
 Margaret. [Vehemently. li He was going to 
 — he was, indeed; it's in the coal-scuttle. 
 
 Lady G. The coal-scuttle 
 
 Tremayne. His head, or the pistol? 
 
 [Going towards coal-scuttle. Business. 
 
 Freddie. I carried it about all day, but I was 
 so bored with it. Mother, I was an ass! 
 
 [Taking her hands. 
 
 Lady G. Oh no, dear, I hope not. 
 
 Freddie. But for Margaret I should have 
 been. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Putting her hand on Margaret's 
 arm.] I knew this dear girl would save him. 
 
 Freddie. She has — I'm engaged to her. [Tak- 
 ing Margaret's hand.] Margaret — my Mar- 
 garet 
 
 [Telephone bell rings. 
 
 Tremayne. [Puzzled and savage.] But it 
 
 was Sybil you were in love with 
 
 [Telephone bell rings violently. 
 
 Freddie. Do let me answer the beastly thing. 
 It's Algy. [Going to telephone.] Yes 
 It's Gaysford. . . . No. . . . Tell her 
 it was only a joke. I'm engaged to Margaret . . 
 I'm sorry she's thrown you over. . . . Yes, 
 of course — it's because she heard the Duke was 
 going to be married. 
 
 Margaret. But he isn't — only don't say so. 
 
 Freddie. Oh! . . . [To Algy, at tele- 
 
THE MODERN WAY 529 
 
 phone."] Come and dine at the Ritz 
 good. 
 
 [Freddie drops telephone and comes forward, 
 
 Tremayne. You've made nice fools of us all 
 round. 
 
 M|is. M. Yes. [Shaking her head.] You 
 have, Freddie dear. 
 
 Freddie. But you've all been splendid, and 
 I'm in the seventh heaven. 
 
 [Tremayne grunts. 
 
 Mrs. M. [Purringly.] And not a fool's para- 
 dise? 
 
 Freddie. No. [Puts his arm on Margaret's 
 shoulder and looks into her eyes, and takes his 
 mother's hand.] Not a fool's paradise — in the 
 
 one that Margaret has made for me. 
 
 \ 
 
 Curtain. 
 
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 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of 
 50c per volume after the third day overdue, increasing 
 to $1.00 per volume after the sixth day. Books not in 
 demand may be renewed if application is made before 
 expiration of loan period. 
 
 NOV 5 1927 
 
 DAVIS 
 'NTERL/BRARy 
 
 ffiC.CiR. AUG U 15 
 
 LOAN 
 
 50m-8.'26 
 
7 
 
 S 
 
 YB 31559 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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